


of heroes and heroines

by lostmemoria



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, F/M, I will be developing her powers more than Jeff Davis ever will, Jordan is something, Lydia is still a banshee, Mentions of other ships, Minor Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Minor Malia Tate/Kira Yukimura, Murder Mystery, Original Character(s), Sort of? - Freeform, Supernatural Elements, basically anyone on the show will be mentioned or appear at some point in the fic, superhuman!Allison
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2015-01-29
Packaged: 2018-02-24 13:18:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 51,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2582798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostmemoria/pseuds/lostmemoria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lydia Martin is not like other eighteen year old girls. She has an IQ of 170, hears voices in her head, and almost unknowingly slept with a deputy six years older than her, who she now has to work with. Not to mention the fact that she’s also the brainy sidekick of her best friend, who just happens to be a superhero.</p><p>And when the strawberry blonde thinks things can’t get any more complicated, a string of murders start to plague New York City, and strangely, they seem to have some sort of connection with her. So, with the help of a certain baby faced deputy, Lydia tries to figure it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blank Space

**Author's Note:**

> here is the marrish superhero/detective au that no one really asked for + what i’m writing for nanowrimo (and will prob never finish tbh.) Each chapter will be named after a song bc I suck at chapter names tbh and I'm a huge tswift fan so don't be shocked if 50% of the chapters are named after her songs. Also, I apologize for the really long chapter? I'm still trying to get used to how it feels like to be writing chapter fics again, so each chapter will most likely be different lengths. And if you're writing for nano too, feel free to add [me](http://nanowrimo.org/participants/lostmemoria) as a writing buddy!

**L Y D I A**

* * *

**  
**_'Cause we're young and we're reckless  
_ _We'll take this way too far  
_ _It'll leave you breathless_

 

  
  
She wakes up to the voices in her head. And then she screams.  
  
It’s not the first time she’s screamed like this. In fact, it’s happened so many times that Lydia’s lost count. But that doesn’t mean it’s something she’s gotten used to. Because she hasn’t. The scream is an ear splitting one, as usual, that erupts from her lungs as Lydia scrambles up from her bed, the sheets being tossed aside as she continues to scream until her throat hurts, until her voice turns hoarse. And when she does finally stop, she feels tears sting her eyes and a sickening coil in the pit of her stomach that makes her want to vomit. The tears stream down her cheeks as she lets out tiny sobs in the silence of the dark room, but her cries are soon accompanied by another sound that isn’t from her. The soft sobs that echo through her mind sound like they’re from a girl, a frightened one too, and as the seconds pass by, the cries start to get louder and _louder_ until Lydia can’t hear herself think anymore. She trembles, but not from cold of the night, but from something much greater, much more bone chilling.  
  
Death.  
  
A deadly scream that doesn’t belong to Lydia echoes through the room, nearly breaking her eardrums as Lydia cries out again, this time covering her ears. But even though she tries to block out the sound, she still hears it, the painful shrieks of the girl followed by disturbing snarls, growls, and other animal-like sounds, making a shiver run down Lydia’s spine. “P-Please stop, _please_ go away,” she murmurs with a quivering voice, bringing her knees up close to her chest as she retreats into a fetal position, while shaking all around.  
  
“Lydia?”  
  
She doesn’t know when the door of her room opened but her wide eyes glance toward the threshold and she sees her best friend peeking in, a worried look on her face. “A-Allison?” Lydia manages to whisper, as she watches the dark brunette quickly enter the room and move around the bed until she’s sitting right next to the strawberry blonde on the bed.  
  
“I’m here, Lyds, I’m here,” she whispers back, wrapping her arms around the frightened girl. Lydia huddles closer into her warmth, letting Allison’s fingers caress through her hair soothingly because it always manages to hush and calm her down.  
  
They stay like that in the silence of Lydia’s room until Lydia speaks again, her voice much more at ease, but still frightened to the core. “Someone’s going to die, Ally...I heard it,” she says, omitting the part about how the killer sounded like an animal— _a monster._  
  
Allison sucks in a breath, something she does whenever she’s nervous. “We’ll save them,” she says surely, and then repeats it. “We’ll save them, Lyds. Don’t worry.”  
  
Lydia nods, finding some sort of strange comfort whenever Allison tells her that, even though she knows that they can’t save everyone. When Allison manages to shush Lydia, she tells her to go back to sleep, that she’ll be here watching over her, just in case it happened again. Lydia nods once more, clutching her pillow to her face, and closing her eyes.  
  
She falls asleep soundlessly for the first time in days.

 

 

**

 

In the morning, Allison isn’t next to her anymore.  
  
Lydia expected that. As she rouses from the deep slumber and sits up in her bed, she hears voices again. But this time, the voices aren’t like the voices she heard last night. They’re voices that she recognizes. _Lydia screamed last night again...And she seemed more shaken up about it than usual. I don’t want to involve her in this one. And besides, I think it’s her one year anniversary with Jackson today, so they probably have something planned. I don’t want to ruin that for her. I want her to have a...semi-normal life at least._ Lydia easily matches that voice up with Allison, and the next one that speaks she recognizes too, mostly because of his british accent. _Yeah, because a semi-normal life with Jackson is so worth it. He’s such a wanker, to be honest.  
  
_ Lydia has to stifle a giggle from Isaac’s comments, because she can’t help but agree. Sometimes she wonders why she’s even with Jackson Whittemore in the first place. They’ve broken up and made up so many times, that technically they haven’t even been together for a full consecutive year. Before Allison can say anything in reply to Isaac, Lydia gets up, making enough noise on purpose so that the two of them know that she’s awake and can probably hear everything they’re saying. When she opens the door and travels to the bathroom, she instantly hears them go silent in the kitchen, the only sound coming from the clinking of coffee mugs. She takes a short shower and changes out of her night clothes, before venturing downstairs and finding the two of them planning on going to see a movie, when Lydia already knows that there _isn’t_ actually a plan to go see a movie, and they’re only using it as an excuse to make it seem like to Lydia that they’re not doing any saving-the-city-from-crime-as-usual things today.  
  
“What movie?” Lydia asks casually, as she slides into a chair and steals Isaac’s coffee.  
  
Isaac frowns at her before turning to pour another cup for himself. “Probably some sappy romantic comedy,” he replies as he pours another mug. “You wanna come?” And at that exact moment, Allison elbows Isaac in the ribs _hard_ , making him wince and almost drop hot coffee over himself. “What was that for!?”  
  
Allison gives him a firm look and then turns back to Lydia, forcing a smile, “don’t you have plans with Jackson today?”  
  
Lydia pretends to look offended. “Do you _not_ want me to come along? Because I totally understand if you guys are going on a date and don’t want me to be the third wheel.”  
  
“ _What?!_ ” They both exclaim in unison, while Lydia tries to hide a smile as she watches a streak of pink appear on both their cheeks.  
  
“We are not dating!” Allison emphasizes, glancing over at Isaac and waiting for him to say the same thing. He doesn’t catch her gesture though, making Allison elbow him again.  
  
“You really have to stop doing that,” Isaac says, wincing and rubbing his side sorely. “But yeah, it’s not a date. I don’t date women who can possibly kill me,” he jokes.  
  
Lydia smiles deviously. “Then you’re missing out, Lahey.” Earning an eye roll from him, the strawberry blonde takes one more sip of her coffee before sliding out of her chair again. “But, it’s fine, you guys carry on, I have plans with Jackson tonight anyways; so have fun at the movies.”  
  
Allison smiles, curling a strand of hair behind her ear. “You too, Lyds.”  
  
“Use protection,” Isaac coughs.  
  
Lydia shoots him a teasing glare before turning on her heel and walking out of the kitchen. She heads back to her room, but as she makes her way up the stairs, she can hear the two of them start bickering again.  
  
 _You’re such an idiot!  
  
What? I thought we were actually going to go watch a movie!  
  
_ And Lydia can’t help but laugh.

 

**

  
It’s a full moon night, and Lydia puts on her favorite red dress that hugs her frame just perfectly, along with her favorite pair of nude heels that are actually comfortable to walk in. Her hair is up in an elaborated braided crown, bobby pins holding it up so no stray strands fall out, even though by the time she’s walking downstairs, a few strands managed to escape anyways. Allison and Isaac left a few hours back to go to the “movies” and Lydia makes a mental note to ask them to give them a full critique tomorrow, just to mess with them. Smiling to herself and looking once more in the mirror in the hall so that she’s satisfied with the way she looks, Lydia leaves the brownstone and walks down the residential street until she can hail a taxi.  
  
In New York City, trying to grab the attention of a taxi is just as frustrating as getting your name spelled wrong by the barista at the nearest bustling Starbucks. But when you have a dressing sense like Lydia Martin and look as cute as a button, things tend to run in your favor, and Lydia Martin uses those favors to her advantage. A taxi stops in front of her as soon as she waves her hand and the strawberry blonde speedily slides into the back seat.  
  
“Where to, ma’am?” The driver asks, flashing her a toothy smile.  
  
“Upper Manhattan,” Lydia replies, taking out her phone to text Jackson that she’ll be coming by sooner than she thought, but she decides against it, thinking that a surprise might be better. Glancing out the window, Lydia watches the scenery pass by, bright lights illuminating the city that never sleeps, and although she’s seen it so many times, it doesn’t stop to put a smile on her face.  
  
She’s been told by multiple people—Isaac, Boyd, Erica, and even her close friend, Stiles--that Jackson isn’t right for her, and in a way they’re _not_ wrong. Lydia knows that Allison feels the same way, but knowing that Lydia already gets constantly questioned by the others enough times, Allison doesn’t say anything and Lydia respects that. Lydia’s also well aware that Jackson isn’t the right guy for her—they argue too much, Jackson tends to disrespect her at times, along with being far too vain, which just gets annoying—but for some reason, Lydia can’t find herself to just break up with him, which is stupid because she can easily get any other guy to fall head over heels for her.  
  
Lydia met Jackson at New York University, while he was in his last year and she was in her second year at Columbia(she’s in her third year now while Jackson’s already graduated). They met at a stupid frat party where Lydia thought he was one of those typical dumbasses—which Lydia still thinks he is, in fact—but by the end of the night she managed to get herself a little too drunk, which then resulted in her kissing him on someone’s bed. Surprisingly, they didn’t have sex for the first time that night though. That special occasion was saved for exactly two weeks later, when they were officially “together” (does that even mean anything in college anymore?) and sadly, Lydia was much more sober during that night.  
  
The taxi stops at a red light between 84th street and 85th and Lydia glances out the window once more, smiling when she sees a tiny child holding his mother’s hand and dragging her down the street. Her heart pains a little at the sight, since Lydia hasn’t seen or spoke to her mother ever since the divorce, nearly around the same time she entered Columbia University. Her father pays for her college tuition while her mother deposits monthly allowances into her account, even though Lydia’s planning on changing that as soon as she gets a job, so there hasn’t quite been a reason to call them up, and she doesn’t want to waste time asking her mom about the generalities— _how are you doing? How’s dad with his new family? Are you still going to your AA meetings?  
  
_ She already knows what the answers to those questions will be, and because of that, she stopped calling a long time ago.  
  
Lydia’s about to move her gaze away from the mother and child, until something catches her eye. Across the street is her favorite italian restaurant in the entire Manhattan, Pisticci, because she goes there with Allison at least once a month and their ravioli is to _die_ for. But as she looks through the large glass windows of the restaurant into the low lit ambience of the place—and she has to squint to make sure she’s right—she sees Jackson. And of course he’s not alone, because no one comes into Pisticci to dine _alone_. Sitting across from him is a girl with dark shoulder length hair, and she’s laughing, probably at some dumb joke Jackson told her. Lydia sees Jackson smirk that stupid smirk of his and then lean over and touch the girl’s hand the _same wa_ y that he touches Lydia’s hand whenever they go out to eat dinner. Lydia clenches her jaw at the sight and instead of feeling her heart break like in those typical romance movies where the girl gets cheated on by her boyfriend, Lydia feels anger. Anger, because she sees her boyfriend eating dinner with another girl at her favorite restaurant and now she can never ever go there again and eat her favorite ravioli, because she’ll constantly be reminded of this moment.  
  
And she will never forgive him for that.  
  
“I’m getting off here,” Lydia finally says to the driver.  
  
“But we’re in the middle of the intersection,” the driver says as if Lydia doesn’t realize _that_. “And the light’s turned green.”  
  
Cars start honking behind them when they don’t move forward and Lydia angrily searches her purse for money before handing it over to the driver, “keep the change.” And with that said, she pushes open the car door and walks out, making short but quick strides across the street as while holding up New York City traffic like she owns it. But she doesn’t seem to care about the people honking at her and telling her _get off the damn street_ because her anger is boiling inside her like a teapot left too long over the flame. When she finally reaches the other side of the street, she stomps into the restaurant, ignoring the waiter who asks her if she has a reservation, and heading straight towards the table where Jackson’s sitting. He sees her before she’s even five feet close to him and the smirk that was on his face is wiped off as he stands up from his seat and looks at her with widened eyes.  
  
“Lydia? What are you—” Lydia doesn’t even give Jackson a chance to finish because she has her hand curled in a fist and swings, punching him right in the nose. It’s a good punch and it’s a good thing Allison taught her how to punch with her knuckles and not the flats of her fingers, otherwise Lydia’s sure she would have broke her hand right now. Jackson stumbles from the harsh blow, tripping over his chair and falling to the ground while clutching his nose in furious pain.  
  
“You fucker,” Lydia says through clenched teeth, “you cheated on me once, and I took you back. But twice? No, never again, we’re done. We’re _through._ ”  
  
“Wait, you’re his girlfriend?” The girl that’s Jackson’s date asks, making Lydia turn to look at her, totally forgetting that she’s standing there.  
  
“He didn’t tell you that?” Lydia asks, and the girl shakes her head. “Not surprised. He’s a douchebag,” she hisses and Jackson looks furious.  
  
“I’m going to issue a restraining order against you!” He yells at her, blood leaking from his nose.  
  
Lydia snorts. “Good. Now I don’t have to see your sorry ass again.” She sees Jackson grit his teeth at her, but Lydia just smiles to irritate him even more, before finally turning on her heel to walk out of the restaurant. She leaves with her head held high, not paying attention to the stares that every person in the restaurant was giving her, because she knows she has nothing to be ashamed of.  
  
Because for once, she’s proud of her actions.  
  
“Wait!”  
  
The strawberry blonde barely steps outside of the restaurant when she turns around again, seeing Jackson’s date jogging over to her. It’s only then that Lydia notices her appearance in more detail; she's rather short and modest looking, reminding her of those girl-next-door types. She’s not surprised that she managed to fall for Jackson’s smooth demeanor, because Lydia was once that girl too.  
  
“What is it?” Lydia asks..  
  
“I just want to apologize,” she says wide-eyed, “I...didn’t know that you were his girlfriend…”  
  
“Like you said, you didn’t know,” Lydia says with a smile, “so it’s fine, really. Don’t worry about it.”  
The girl nods innocently, but Lydia notices how her eyes still show guilt. Lydia arches an eyebrow then. “You didn’t sleep with him, did you?”  
  
“What? N-No, of course not!” The girl quickly exclaims, cheeks turning bright red. “I barely met him a week ago.”  
  
“It’s good that you didn’t, his dick isn’t that great anyways,” Lydia smirks, making the girl blush even more but then let out a giggle, which she thinks is adorable. “I’m Lydia Martin by the way.”  
  
The girl looks slightly surprised when Lydia introduces herself, but she quickly does the same. “Kira--Kira Yukimura.”  
  
“So, Kira, what are your plans for tonight now that you know the guy you were dating is a complete asshole?” Lydia asks with a curious grin.  
  
Kira thinks about it for a moment. “Well...I can go home and read Captain Marvel…,” she mumbles mostly to herself.  
  
“I’ll take that as you don’t have _any_ plans,” Lydia says, linking her arm with Kira’s and getting another wide eyed look from her. “In that case, you’re coming with me.”  
  
“Where are we going?” Kira squeaks as Lydia starts dragging her down the sidewalk.  
  
“The Fat Cat,” the strawberry blonde responds, getting a very confused look from Kira, making her quickly add, _“_ It’s a bar. I could really use a drink a right now...Taxi!” Lydia stops walking and tries hailing one of the cabs.  
  
While she does that, Kira blinks at her, slightly flabbergasted. “U-Uh, I’m actually only nineteen.”  
  
Lydia rolls her eyes as a taxi stops in front of them and she opens the door for the both of them. “Good, because I’m only eighteen,” she says, while winking, and Kira looks like she’s been stunned in place. Rolling her eyes once more, Lydia grabs the girl again by the arm, having to drag her into the taxi, and it’s only when they’re finally driving through the city that Lydia gets the feeling that it’s going to be one hell of a night.

 

 

**

 

 

The only reason Lydia has a fake I.D is because the others—Allison, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd—are all either twenty-one or older and she’s the odd ball out. Not only that, but having a fake I.D surprisingly comes in handy when they’re on assignments, especially when they have to do stakeouts at bars and clubs. New York City might be the center of the universe or the capital of the world, but just like any other urban city, it was polluted with high and petty crime all around. Sometimes it’s bank robberies or drug-related crimes or if it’s Lydia’s lucky day, a computer security exploit for some high end company, because she’s practically the tech guru among the group. She isn’t double majoring in computer science and criminal justice for no reason. But those are the types of assignments they get on good days, because underneath the surface of petty robbers and meth heads is the stuff they have to deal with on most days, the stuff that most people will either laugh or cringe in fear at: the supernatural. Or as Lydia’s pocket dictionary defines it, _manifestations attributed to some force beyond scientific understanding or the laws of nature_. _A supernatural being_.  
  
Like her.  
  
“I take it you come here often then?” Kira asks as she takes a seat at the bar next to Lydia.  
  
“Sometimes,” Lydia says as the bartender comes over and she gives him a flirty smile, “Hey Frank, the usual for me and can you get a screwdriver for her on the rocks, please and thank you..” Frank nods, giving Lydia quick smile, before retreating to go make their drinks. As soon as he’s gone, Lydia turns and whispers to Kira, “I would hook you up with him but he’s gay, so.”  
  
Kira’s eyes widened, “Oh, no, I’m not looking to hook up with anyone!” She smiles embarrassingly and glances around the place, taking in the ambience, and Lydia watches her eyes dart around before they momentarily settle on someone. Lydia glances her way and sees her staring at a girl with dirty blonde hair who’s sitting right across from them at the bar with a guy, punching him playfully on the shoulder. Kira gives her a quick once over, taking in her long, athletic legs and the dark purple dress she’s wearing that hugs her every single curve perfectly.  
  
“Are you sure about that?” Lydia asks deviously, making Kira realize she’s been staring for far too long, making her quickly look away.  
  
Kira gulps. “ _Yes_. And besides, that’s probably her boyfriend.”  
  
Lydia sideways glances back at the girl and she’s done enough people watching in the past two years to know when two people are a couple or not. “Trust me, they’re only friends,” the strawberry blonde says in evaluation as Frank comes back with their drinks.  
  
“How can you be so sure?” Kira questions, staring at her drink and stirring the straw experimentally.  
  
“It’s just vodka and orange juice,” Lydia reassures her and then adds, “and I know because for your information, she’s staring at you right now.”  
  
Kira nearly chokes on her drink when Lydia says that, making almost everyone in the place look over at her, including the girl in the purple dress who already had her attention on Kira. “You’re—joking—right?” Kira asks while trying to compose herself, even though her face is flushed red now.  
  
Lydia takes the other girl’s drink and sets it down so that Kira doesn’t end up spilling it all over herself. “Why don’t you check yourself?” She asks as she takes a sip of her cosmopolitan.  
  
Kira nods slowly and then tries to take a sly glance back at the girl, but Lydia realizes that Kira isn’t the type to be sneaky, because the girl immediately notices Kira trying to secretly steal glances at her and smiles. Realizing she’s been found out, Kira turns away so quickly that she nearly falls off her seat. “Oh my god, she knows I was looking at her. What do I do now?!”  
  
Lydia gives her an amused look. “I think you should start by calming down a little?”  
  
“Okay, okay, I can do that…” Kira takes a deep breath and exhales, picking up her drink again and slowly sipping. “Let’s change that subject…? I mean, um, you don’t seem so angry about the fact that your boyfriend cheated on you…?”  
  
The strawberry blonde shrugs. “He cheated on me before in my sophomore year of uni— “  
  
“Wait, you’re a college student?!” Kira looks mindblown, and then in a lowered voice she says, “But you’re only eighteen!”  
  
Lydia can’t help but chuckle. “It’s called getting your GED.”  
  
“So you skipped your senior year of high school?”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“That means...you entered college at sixteen…!”  
  
“Uh-huh."

"Which means, you're like a genius."

Lydia smiles, clinking the ice around in her glass. "Technically, yes. I do have an IQ of 170."

And if Lydia thinks Kira looked mindblown before, she definitely looks like she's going to fall off her seat again now after hearing that. But, thankfully, before she does, they're interrupted by the girl that Kira was staring at earlier. "Hey, can I buy you a drink?" She says specifically to Kira, getting straight to the point.

Lydia watches Kira's reaction intentively and she's pretty sure that she's never seen anyone blush as hard as Kira does. And because Kira is one of those genuine nice girls that Lydia never had the luck of having as a friend back in her high school, she politely asks,, "U-Uh, what about your friend?"

Before the other girl can even answer, Lydia butts in, “I’ll keep him company.” Both girls look over at the strawberry blonde, Kira giving her a questionable look while the other girl grins. “I don’t mind,” Lydia shrugs, standing up and grabbing her drink.  
  
“Good,” the new girl answers, still grinning, “because he’s single.”  
  
Lydia smiles at that comment. “Oh, is he _now?_ ” Part of her is thinking that she shouldn’t, that it hasn’t even been more than two hours since she broke up with Jackson, but then the other part of her—probably the slight drunk part of her—is saying, _fuck it._ And so she goes with the latter. Lydia gives a small wave to Kira, whispering, _have fun_ , before proceeding to walk away, letting the other girl take her seat.  
  
 _So, what’s your name?  
  
Kira, Kira Yukimura.  
  
Cute name. I’m Malia.  
  
_ Lydia makes her way to the other side of the bar and when she’s close enough, she finally gets a good look at the guy Malia was sitting with, because she wasn’t really paying attention to him earlier. And she regrets not noticing him any sooner, because he’s absolutely delicious-looking. He has neatly cut dark hair that Lydia wouldn’t mind tangling her fingers in, especially since Jackson never let her touch his hair, and strong shaven features, along with nicely toned arms that show off his defined muscles in the teal v-neck he’s wearing. When he finally looks over at her, bright green eyes meeting hers, Lydia has to try her best not to swoon, because even though she’s only eighteen (and the guy looks like he could be older than Jackson), she’s not going to let herself be enticed that easily, no matter how much she wouldn’t mind just letting him take her back to his place right this minute. Composing herself from her thoughts, Lydia gives him a flirtatious smile, “Your friend told me you were all by your lonesome self over here.”  
  
He smiles and it’s a genuine, honest smile, something that Lydia almost forgot even existed, since Jackson’s smirks always displayed some sort of deviousness. He glances over to where Malia is with Kira, the two laughing comfortably, before looking back at Lydia. “Did she now?”  
  
Lydia nods, still smiling. “Mind if I fix that?”  
  
“I don’t mind at all, actually,” he says, offering the seat next to him, which Lydia slides into, crossing her legs and letting her dress hike up a little, revealing more of her legs. He catches that, his eyes instantly giving her a once over, and Lydia smirks.  
  
“My friend was worried that the two of you were a thing,” Lydia says with a raised eyebrow.  
  
He chuckles, "really? She's just my co-worker and drinking buddy. Actually, she’s been trying to hook me up all night. She calls me _painfully single_.”  
  
Lydia laughs, “well, I’ve been painfully single since the past two hours.” And then she almost cringes from saying it, because god, can’t she just forget about Jackson by now?  
  
He doesn’t seem to mind it as much as she does though, because he grins at her. “In that case,” he says, motioning towards the bartender, “another one for the lady.” Then he turns towards her, “if you don’t mind that is.”  
  
Lydia’s surprised by his last comment, since she’s so used to guys buying her drinks whether she says yes or not. “Not at all,” she replies with another smile as Frank sets down another drink in front of her. “Thanks.”  
  
“I’m Jordan by the way,” he says, formally introducing himself.  
  
“ _Jordan_ ,” Lydia repeats, just to see how it sounds on her tongue, her lips curving up in another flirtatious smile. “I’m Lydia.”  
  
“So, Lydia, bad break up?” He asks, bringing them back to what she said a few minutes before. “If you don’t mind me asking.”  
  
And once again, Lydia’s surprised by his choice of words. She can’t tell if he’s truly interested in her or just trying to be friendly, not that friendly is bad, she can definitely do with friendly. Maybeit’s all she actually needs for right now. So she spills, “Sort of. Does breaking his nose sound bad?”  
  
Jordan’s eyes slightly widen, and she fully expects him to be turned off by that, but instead he smiles and keeps his gaze on her, fully attentive. “Wow, he must have deserved it then.”  
  
Lydia takes a sip of her drink, subconsciously leaning closer into him, “trust me, he did. Cheated on me, actually, cheated on me with _her_ ,” she says, pointing to Kira, “but she didn’t know she was being cheated on, of course, and somehow we managed to become friends after that, and now we’re here.”  
  
“That sucks for him,” Jordan says and then adding, “because he seems like he’s missing out.”  
  
The strawberry blonde raises an appreciative eyebrow at him, her lips twisting into another amused smirk, “is that what you said to the other girls tonight?” She teases, because she’s definitely not going to fall that fast.  
  
“Not really,” he replies and then smiles sheepishly as he admits, “you’re the only girl I’ve talked to all night. Besides Malia, of course.”  
  
That surprises her again, and Lydia starts to think whether tonight will break the record of having the most surprises. “Should I consider myself special then?” She asks, tone of voice still a bit teasing.  
  
“I don’t think you need me to tell you that,” Jordan says, smiling, and wiping _her_ smile right off her face with those words, because it’s the first time anyone’s ever told her that. Because she’s eighteen and has always been exposed and used to the way society expects girls to be; smart but not too smart, pretty but natural, dependent on a guy but not _too_ clingy, and among other crappy sexist norms.  
  
“Yeah...,” Lydia says, softly smiling, because suddenly, it isn’t about flirting anymore. There’s a strange sense of comfortableness between the two of them now, and before Lydia knows it, they start to talk about other things. The conversation surprisingly flows easily, and each time Lydia speaks, Jordan actually listens, and Lydia tries her best not to be so surprised by it, but she _is_ , and she’s pretty sure it shows on her face.  
  
She doesn’t know where the time goes, probably because she’s too busy laughing at Jordan’s jokes, and that too genuinely. It’s not until she notices Kira and Malia leaving, Kira giving her a small smile as they pass by, that Lydia realizes she’s been talking to Jordan for the past hour and half. Jordan notices Malia leaving also because she gives him a wave and a thumbs up, which Lydia knows subtly means, _go get laid._ Lydia watches as Jordan rolls his eyes at the gesture, the tips of his ears turning pink, before turning back to her and running a hand through his hair sheepishly. “Do you need a ride home?” He asks. “I can call a cab for you.”  
  
Lydia can’t help but feel mildly disappointed by his proposal, and she decides right then and there that if he’s not going to make a move, then she might as well do it herself, and she doesn’t care if it leads to something or not, because she’ll never know unless she tries. “I’m...actually not ready to go home just yet,” she says slowly, hoping he gets the gesture.  
  
And luckily for her, he does. “...We can go back to my place?” he suggests, and Lydia has to resist herself from saying, _god, I never thought you’d ask._  
  
Instead, she smiles. “I’d like that.”

 

 

**

 

  
They leave the bar and end up walking back to his apartment because he lives close by, even though he suggests taking a cab, which Lydia politely declines, mostly because the night feels nice against her skin and they’re both a little buzzed, so walking it off will prove better in the long run. They walk mostly in silence, the only noise coming from the cars zooming by, because even at one in the morning, Manhattan is bustling with life. As they walk though, Lydia notices how their hands keep touching, making them glance at each other, gazes locking various times before Lydia looks away, face growing slightly hot. She blames it on the force of gravitational attraction.  
  
Fifteen minutes later and they’re in the elevator lift of the apartment building he lives in, slowly heading up to the very top floor. Lydia can’t help but feel a bit fidgety because of the _unbelievably_ thick sexual tension in the air between them and she wonders if he notices it too. By the time they reach the seventh floor (he lives on the twelfth), Lydia realizes that she can’t wait until they get to his place any longer, and maybe it’s because she’s sort of but not really drunk, but without a second thought, she grabs Jordan’s wrist, making him look over at her as she leans in on her tip-toes and presses her lips against his. She feels him freeze for a moment, but only for a moment, because she quickly feels his hands—and ratherbig hands too—wrap around her waist, pulling her closer to him until he’s kissing her back hungrily. He tasted musty from the beer and a little fruity, which Lydia assumes is because of her, and it makes her head spin a little because she’s never hooked up with a stranger before.  
  
Although she’d argue that Jordan isn’t a complete stranger.  
  
They only pull away when the elevator comes to a stop, the door opening to their designated floor, and Lydia’s sure that if the elevator had stopped a little later, she would have lost half of her clothes already. Jordan still has his hands around her waist and Lydia looks up at him, smiling, “as much as elevator sex sounds fun, I’d much prefer the bedroom.”  
  
Jordan chuckles and without saying anything else, he hoists her up in his arms and Lydia hums in approval, before she’s carried away into his apartment. She doesn’t have much time to examine the new surroundings, because she’s too busy leaving lipstick marks down the column of his throat. And before she knows it, her back hits the soft bed and Jordan settles over her, dipping his head down to catch her lips again with his own. He kisses her softer this time and not so rushed, which Lydia is completely fine with, since they have the whole night to take their time. And now that they’re in a more private setting, Lydia can finally pay attention to the small things, like how her skin is buzzing from his touch or how soft his hair feels under her fingers, or how he just smells so _good_.  
  
But just as she feels Jordan’s hands linger dangerously close near the hem of her already hiked up dress, the moment is spoiled when Lydia’s phone goes off, and she curses silently that she didn’t put it on vibrate. She tries to ignore it at first by kissing him harder, but it keeps ringing and Jordan eventually pulls away, to Lydia’s groaning protests.  
  
“I think you should get that,” he says, leaning across her to swoop up her purse from the ground, which she must have dropped when he had laid her down on the bed.  
  
Lydia frowns but checks her phone anyways, and she swears to god that if it’s Stiles, she’s going to yell at him, but when she sees the caller ID, her breath hitches. It’s Isaac.  
  
Jordan notices the sudden change in her expression and raises a brow, “is everything okay?”  
  
“Yeah...I just need to take this call,” she says slowly and he nods, understandably, moving off of her so that she has her space. Lydia turns away from him and answers the call. “Hello?”  
  
“ _Finally_ you answer your phone! What were you doing? Having sex with Jackson?”  
  
Lydia decides it’s better not to explain her break up over the phone, so instead she says, “what’s wrong?”  
  
“What’s wrong? More like what _isn’t_ wrong!” Lydia hears heavy breathing over Isaac’s voice and she feels her heart skip a beat a little. “I need you to come home now,” he hisses.  
  
She’s getting impatient now, “Can you just tell me what’s—”  
  
“Allison’s hurt, and she’s not healing, and I’m standing in front of your house with no keys, and I’m cold and I have blood all over my hands and if you don’t come soon, I’m definitely sure the neighbors are gonna report me for being a suspicious looking person, so hurry up, _please._ ”  
  
It’s all Lydia needs to hear from him before she hangs up the phone and gets up from the bed abruptly, straightening out her dress as she heads toward the door. Jordan follows her. “Lydia? Is everything okay?” He asks again.  
  
“Yeah, I just really, um, need to go,” Lydia says, quickly putting on her heels, the worried and nervous expression on her face obviously not fooling Jordan. But before he can say anything else, she’s already heading for the door. “It was nice meeting you, and I’m really, _really_ sorry, it’s just I really need to be somewhere right now,” she says over her shoulder, opening the door of his apartment and stepping out.  
  
“Wait, Lydia—”  
  
But she doesn’t have time to hear what he says, because she’s already dashing down the hallway, yelling another apology over her shoulder back at him, because she knows it’s better this way than having to explain the circumstances—because honestly, there’s no way she can explain them. She ends up taking the stairs instead of the elevator, because she has no patience for elevators anymore, so she hurries down twelve flights of stairs in five inch heels, because running in heels has become a skill that she’s mastered. When she finally gets outside, Lydia hails another taxi and it’s only when she tells the guy to step on it and they’re speeding down Manhattan streets again, does Lydia realize that she never gave Jordan her number.  
 _  
Damn it._

**

 

Isaac sits on Allison’s bed next to her, both of his hands gripping her arm as Lydia watches him take the pain from her, the veins of his arms blackening and his eyes flashing yellow momentarily, making a low and relieved sigh escape from Allison’s lips as she lies unconscious. Each time Isaac does it, Lydia feels her heart speed up, and Isaac catches the change in her heartbeat instantly. “Don’t worry,” he says, reassuringly, “we got out the two bullets and from what Erica said, the wound should heal as long as she rests and doesn’t go into shock.”

“Are you sure there’s nothing else we can do?” Lydia asks, biting her lip nervously as she stands with her arms crossed in Allison’s room, where the huntress lays in her bed, eyes closed and blood still spilling out from her abdomen. Just looking at her, Lydia feels a shiver run done her spine.  
  
“Erica said she’ll heal if she rests,” Isaac says, “and she said that when she comes back, she’ll check the vitals.”  
  
Lydia nods slowly. “I...should have been there.”  
  
He snorts. “Don’t start that now, Lydia. What were you going to do? You can’t even _heal_. If anything, I should have took the bullet for her,” he says, frowning.  
  
Hearing his comment, Lydia feels a familiar feeling start to rise in the pit of her stomach again. A feeling that she’s too used to by now. The feeling of helplessness, that she can’t do anything to help anyone, because she doesn’t have werewolf claws or fangs like Isaac or superhuman strength like Allison. All Lydia can do is hear voices and scream death, which isn’t entirely helpful because sometimes she doesn’t even know _whose_ death she’s screaming.  
  
Allison would argue with her about the whole thing, telling her that she is important, because she has the brains and _everyone knows that brains win over brawn_. But how far are Lydia’s brains going to take her? Will it help her when she’s walking down the street one night and is confronted by a man, bigger than her, taller than her, and most importantly, _stronger_. What does she do then?  
  
For once, Lydia wants to feel strong.  
  
“I’ll stay with her tonight,” she says, trying to make her voice as steely as possible but even then, her heart beat and the way she reeks from anxiety will always say otherwise.  
  
“No, it’s fine,” Isaac tells her with a wave of his hand, “you should just go to sleep. Actually, you could go back to Jackson if you want, I just needed someone to open the door.”  
  
His words hurt her and he knows they do, which is precisely why he says them, because he knows that if he says a few hurtful things, she’ll leave, and then he can give his attention fully to Allison. Part of Lydia wants to tell him that she broke up with Jackson, because maybe then she can get some pity, maybe even an apology, but then she realizes that’s not what she wants.  
  
It’s not what she needs.  
  
Instead, Lydia walks out, her hands clenching fistfuls of the fabric of her dress as she makes her way back to her room. As soon as she steps inside, not bothering to even turn on the light, she locks the door behind her and sinks to the floor, bringing her knees up so that she’s holding them close to her chest, but she dares not to cry, no matter how much she wants to. Because she doesn’t want Isaac to hear her from a few doors down, because she doesn’t want anyone to hear _her_. Her eyes shift around in the darkness of the room, slowly getting adjusted to the lack of light or the little of it that spills through the window from the illuminating full moon. A s she glances around, her gaze catches a box sitting in the corner of her room. It’s always been there, for the longest time, but now as she stares at it, it feels like she’s looking at it for the first time.  
  
Slowly getting up, Lydia wanders over to it, her bare feet hitting the wooden floor echoing oddly loud in her ears as she kneels before the box. Her hands gradually start looking through it, bringing up the once familiar things to her one by one; a bracelet Jackson gave her that she doesn’t wear anymore, his old lacrosse jersey back when he used to play for varsity, the extra key to his flat, and lastly, her fingers manage to find the thin polaroid strip at the very bottom of the box from when they had gone to Coney Island last summer. As Lydia stares at it, her smiling face starts to look distant and unrecognizable the more she looks at it.  
  
Her lip quivers and she feels like breaking, because It’s two in the morning and the last thing she wants to do is sleep.  
  
But since she’s already decided that she’s not going to cry, she sits against her bed and pulls out her phone instead, going through her photo gallery and taking the time to delete every photo of her and Jackson. And as she goes through each of them, through each and every memory associated with every picture, she feels a little lighter, as if something’s been physically lifted off her shoulders, as if every time Jackson told her that she wasn’t pretty enough, smart enough, _good enough_ , had all disappeared.  
  
Because she realizes that she is good enough and it’s just sad that Jackson never realized it.  
  
She’s about to delete the very last picture when her phone buzzes and lights up. Kira’s calling her. “Hello?” Lydia says, her voice slightly choked.  
  
“You sound funny. Did I call at a wrong time? Sorry, I’ll call back in the morning—”  
  
“—No, it’s fine,” Lydia stops her before she can hang up. “How was it with Malia? Give me all the _details_.”  
  
“Eh...we didn’t actually hook up,” Kira confesses and Lydia can just imagine her biting her lip nervously, “I told her that I wanted to take things slow.”  
  
Lydia smiles. It looks like neither of them got lucky tonight. “And what’d she say?”  
  
“She’s picking me up for pizza and a movie next Friday.”  
  
Lydia can’t help but notice the unexcited tone Kira uses, making her question, “and you don’t sound too happy about that…?”  
  
“No, I’m happy, it’s just…”  
  
“What?”  
  
“ _What if she ends up not liking me?_ ” Lydia has to cover her mouth to avoid laughing, as Kira continues, “I mean, why would she even like me? I’m a total dork. I like locking myself in my room and reading comics or binge watching marvel movies, and I’m an electrical engineer major, that’s like so not sexy. And besides, _I live with my parents still._ ”  
  
“Kira, you’re adorable,” Lydia says, earning a small whimper from her, “and if she doesn’t see that, then she’s missing out on a super cute girl.”  
  
“Thanks. I think. Oh, which reminds me, how did things go with that guy?”  
  
Jordan’s bright green eyes and smile flash in her mind and Lydia sighs. “Didn’t have as much luck as you sadly,” she says with a regretful smile. “I had to leave early, so yeah. Didn’t even get his number.”  
  
“Oh, that sucks. Hey, do you want me to ask Malia if she can get it for you?” Kira asks, a hopeful tone to her voice.  
  
“Thanks, but no thanks. I think I’m done with boys for now,” Lydia says, because in a way it’s partially the _truth_.  
  
Kira giggles. “Welcome to the club.”  
  
Lydia smirks. “Thanks.” Kira continues to talk about how she’s excited but nervous about her date, and Lydia agrees to help her pick out something to wear, and it’s only after a few more minutes of talking that they finally hang up because they both have early classes tomorrow.  
  
But Lydia doesn’t head straight to bed. Instead, she grabs the box of Jackson’s things and walks out of her room with it, heading to the bathroom first. As she turns the hallway corner, she sees Isaac leaving Allison’s room with an empty mug of coffee. Their eyes lock in the silence of the darkness. He breaks it first though, raising an eyebrow at her. “You didn’t go to sleep?”  
  
She shakes the box a little in her hands. “I decided to get rid of some dead weight.”  
  
He narrows his eyes at her, “at three in the morning? Having an existential crisis?”  
  
“Yeah.” Lydia says it with a nod, says it as if it’s the most normal thing for her to be saying.  
  
Isaac doesn’t reply, just sort of looks at her and shrugs his shoulders, before turning his back to her and heading down to the kitchen. Lydia stands there until she hears his feet hit the bottom step, and then she quickly rushes to the bathroom, locking the door behind her so that no one can disturb her as she finishes what needs to be done. Placing the box on the sink counter, she takes out the photo strip and with her other hand, digs for the lighter that she knows Erica secretly keeps in an empty soap box in their bottom drawer, because Erica has this thing with smoking in other people’s bathrooms.  
  
She places the lighter close to the corner of the photo, clicking it once and making the red-blue flame appear instantly. The tiny fire catches the corner just as quickly, immediately turning the bright white border of the photo strip into a burning black as the picture starts disintegrating within her fingertips. Lydia watches it intensely, the flame spreading until both her and Jackson’s faces are unrecognizable, and she feels a release deep from her soul. She then drops the picture into the toilet, the flames that are left extinguishing in the water, and she’s about to flush it when her phone buzzes again. It’s a text from Stiles.  
  
[ **3:13 AM] STILES:** _y were u not in class today???  
  
_ **[3:13 AM] STILES:** _if u were with jackson, I DONT WANNA KNOW  
  
_ **[3:14 AM] STILES:** _but that’s not the reason i txted u  
  
_ **[3:14 AM] STILES:** _damn i accidently pressed send ANYWHO i txted u bc guess who won the internship?????? (well u don’t have to guess bc it was you duh) so i just want to say congrats! and dad said he cant wait to work with u! :-)  
  
_ Lydia smiles and texts back a quick reply, _Tell your dad I say thanks. And go to sleep, Stiles. It’s 3 in the morning._ With that sent, she finally flushes the remains of the photo, watching as it spirals downward until it’s gone, along with the leftover memories. However, she doesn’t feel a sense of relief just yet, because there’s still one more thing Lydia has to do. Picking up the box once more, she exits the bathroom and makes her way downstairs, and luckily for her, Isaac isn’t anywhere to be seen. Slipping on a pair of sandals, she walks out the front door and into the early morning darkness, making her way down the front steps, her legs slightly shivering from the brisk air. Heading over to one of the trash bins at the front of their place, Lydia doesn’t hesitate even once as she dumps the box into it, not even giving it another glance as she finally sighs. Now, she feels relief.  
  
After that’s done, Lydia heads back inside, going straight up to her room again and finally laying down in the comfort of her bed. She doesn’t bother to slip out of the dress she’s still wearing, and instead just huddles underneath the cool sheets, her eyes staring at the now blank space in the corner of the room.  
  
And then, she cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will be more jordan/lydia in the next chapter + i'm 98.5% that i'll be writing this alternating POVs between jordan and lydia so unless I change my mind last minute, expect the next chapter to be in jordan's pov!


	2. I Knew You Were Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo! I finally posted up the new chapter. A lot more Marrish interaction in this one, I hope you guys like it. :) comments/kudos/bookmarks are all deeply appreciated!!

**J O R D A N**

* * *

 

  _I knew you were trouble when you walked in  
_ _So shame on me now  
_ _Flew me to places I'd never been  
_ _Now I'm lying on the cold hard ground  
_ _Oh, oh, trouble, trouble, trouble_

 

There are over eight million people living in New York City and of those eight million, 1.6 million live in Manhattan, and yet the only person Jordan can’t seem to stop thinking about is a particular strawberry blonde by the name of Lydia.  
  
That’s it. He doesn’t even know her last name.  
  
And sure, he can probably just ask Malia to ask that girl she was with a few nights prior for her number, but Jordan can’t help but feel unbelievably awkward about doing that. He doesn’t even know if she’s interested in him like the way he’s interested in her and he definitely doesn’t want to put her in an uncomfortable situation where she isn’t, and it’s because of that doubtfulness that he doesn’t do anything about it.  
  
But that doesn’t stop Jordan from letting Lydia fog up his mind more than normal. It’s weird, in a way, because he’s been with other women before, but none of them seemed to affect him like the way Lydia does, and he only knew her for two hours. But there was something different about her, that much he’s definitely sure of.  
  
“It happened again!”  
  
Malia’s voice makes Jordan look up from the paperwork he’s doing as she walks into the police station, two coffees in both her hands and a newspaper underneath her armpit. And if someone didn’t know Malia as well as Jordan does, they’d think that the extra cup of coffee is for them, when really both cups of coffee are for her, because Malia _hates_ morning shifts.  
  
Actually, she just hates the mornings in general.  
  
Before Jordan can even ask what she’s talking about, Malia puts the coffee down and shoves the front page of the newspaper in his face, which he takes from her and then reads with an arched eyebrow. Usually, Jordan grabs the paper on his way to work, but since he was running late today, he totally forgot about it. And part of him can’t believe he totally forgot about it, because the bold headline of the front page article reads: **_ARTEMIS AND ATHENA STRIKE AGAIN_**. It doesn’t take Jordan long to quickly skim the first few paragraphs before getting a jist of the whole story, because for the past few months, it’s been the same headline over and over. New York City’s superheroes—Artemis and Athena, rightfully named after the Greek Goddesses by every media source and news agency alive, had saved twenty-two people from a chemical fire at a factory building last night before the firefighters could even arrive. He feels  a shiver crawl up his spine as he glances at the photos of the fire, before quickly looking away.  
  
And as usual, there are no pictures of what the supposed heroes look like printed anywhere in the article.  
  
“No photos again!” Malia exclaims, clearly disappointed as she snatches the paper back and turns to the comics section. “You’d think that ever since that surveillance video leaked three months ago from the incident at HaleCorp, someone would have gotten a picture, or another video even by now, but no, people just _suck_ ,” she says with another frustrated groan.  
  
Jordan can’t help but chuckle. “They’re superheroes, Malia. If they wanted everyone to know how they looked like, they probably would have done so by now.”  
  
She frowns. “ _I know_ , but I heard from one of my friends who’s friends with one of the factory workers from last night’s fire that she was stuck underneath a broken machine that probably weighed like a thousand pounds, and Artemis lifted it up with _one hand._ One hand, Jordan! Can you imagine that?! I just wanna freaking meet her and kiss the hell out of her, already. She’s such a babe.”  
  
“Someone sounds like they have a crush,” Jordan says with a playful smirk.  
  
“ _Hell yes I do._ She can kick my ass anyday and I’d be happy,” Malia says proudly, taking another swig of her coffee, before adding with her own devilish smile, “and at least I’m not the one who has a folder dedicated to Athena saved on their _computer._ ”  
  
Jordan blushes at that comment. “It’s for research,” he lies, and Malia just cocks an eyebrow, seeing right through him.  
  
“Yeah right,” she says and then whispers, “you’re totally obsessed with her.”  
  
Jordan’s mouth drops open slightly at her words, because they’re completely true, and he knows they’re _true_ ,  although he’d argue it’s more of a fascination than obsession, because if Artemis is the brawns, then Athena is definitely the brains pf the duo. From what he’s read, the media’s definitely deemed her as a genius, being able to hack into high security networks and release information that probably would have never been released otherwise, like she did with the big stock scandal a few months ago, getting CEOs of top companies arrested like it’s nobody’s business. People say she’s probably graduated from Harvard with _magna cum laude._ Others say she’s an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D.  
  
Jordan, on the other hand, just really wants to know who she is.  
  
“Don’t you have work to do?” He finally says to Malia, trying to change the subject to something that isn’t as embarrassing.  
  
Malia frowns and scrunches her nose. “Ugh. I hate work,” she mumbles, grabbing her coffees and the paper before promptly walking away towards her desk, and Jordan swears he hears her mumble, _actually I just hate the world in general._  
  
He smiles to himself, shaking his head and then going back to the paperwork he was filing. He only finishes about halfway before he’s interrupted again, this time by Danny Mahealani, one of the computer forensics experts in the NYPD. “Jordan, the Sheriff wants to see you,” he says and then adding, “to discuss something about a new intern?”  
  
Jordan gives Danny a confused look, but gets up anyways. He  remembers Malia telling him something about that a few weeks ago, how the station is letting a criminal justice student from Columbia University come in and do an internship. Jordan knows that much, but he doesn’t know what that had to do with _him_ specifically. Danny only seems to know as little as Jordan does, because he just shrugs his shoulders and then walks back to his desk after delivering the message. Figuring the only way to find out what’s going on is to find out himself, Jordan puts the paperwork away and walks towards the Sheriff’s office.  
  
He’s been working with the NYPD for a little over six months, before that he was stationed in Afghanistan for two years, working as a part of the Hazardous Device Team, dealing with bombs and other explosive materials. It always seemed to surprise people when he told them that, especially Malia, who reacted in the most straightforward way possible, _what if you like, died?!_ And although he doesn’t show it much now, the possibility of dying was something that always crossed his mind back when he was still in Afghanistan. Jordan had watched some of his closest men from his unit die and it always made him think, _why them? Why not me? Why do I get to live?_ It makes him feel guilty, and most importantly, it makes the memories from the past that still haunt him today.  
  
“You called for me, sir?” Jordan says as soon as he enters the Sheriff’s office.  
  
“Get in here, Parrish,” Sheriff Stilinski gestures, and Jordan enters, feeling a little fidgety. Compared to the other officers, Jordan’s the newest in the station, yet he’s been able to establish a good relationship with the older man, to the point where Stilinski trusts him with important details in particular cases.  
  
“Is something wrong, sir?” Jordan asks a bit nervous, while closing the door behind him.  
  
The Sheriff smiles. “No need to worry, Parrish,” he reassures him, letting the deputy breathe in relief. “You’ve heard about one of the students from Columbia coming in for an internship, I suppose?” Jordan nods. “Well, I just wanted to let you know that they’ll be reporting directly to you.”  
  
Jordan narrows his eyes at the sound of that. He was definitely not expecting that. “Me, sir?”  
  
The Sheriff nods, “I trust you, Parrish. And I trust you to show this student all the formalities and legalities of how the NYPD works. She’s only eighteen but I know her personally and she’s a very bright student for her age, so I’m sure there won’t be any difficulties.”  
  
 _She_. Jordan couldn’t help but catch that small word because it makes him realize that he’s basically going to have to babysit some over eager,over enthusiastic girl who will ask him too many questions that he probably doesn’t even have the answers to. Not to mention that she’s apparently only eighteen, which makes it kind of worse, because Jordan would be lying if he said that he didn’t notice the flirtatious looks that girls gave him, especially high school and college ones. Not to mention the fact that  the younger they are, the more idealistic images they usually tend to have about how a law enforcement job tends to be: exciting, mysterious, and always fast-paced like in some crime show, when in reality, things can get kind of boring or even frightening in some cases, more than they might be up for. And Jordan definitely doesn’t want to be the one who ends up crushing those idealistic images with the real thing.  
  
“Ah, there she is,” the Sheriff suddenly says as the door opens again.  
  
Jordan turns around to greet the student, but as soon as he sees her, his eyes almost fall out of their sockets.  
  
She gives him a similar expression, wide-eyed and lips slightly parted in surprise, but it only lasts momentarily because then she smiles as the Sheriff walks over, shaking her hand welcomingly. “Let me introduce you,” Stilinski says as he turns toward Jordan, “Parrish, this is Lydia Martin, Lydia this is Deputy Jordan Parrish.”  
 _  
Martin_ , he thinks. At least he knows her last name now. Lydia smiles at him and Jordan notices how she’s staring at him, giving him a blatant once over and sizing him up. It makes him nervous and honestly, slightly intimidated, because she doesn’t seem one bit horrified by the fact that she almost slept with a deputy six years older than her, or at least, not as horrified as Jordan is now that he knows that she’s _only_ eighteen.  
  
Lydia takes a step towards him and holds out her hand, which he takes, his hand swallowing up hers, but nevertheless, she gives him a firm handshake, all the while keeping eye contact with him. “Nice to meet you, _deputy_ ,” she says, and he can’t tell if it’s just him, but he catches her tone of voice to be a bit flirtatious, almost teasing.  
  
Jordan lets go of her hand. “Pleasure’s all mine,” he tries to say as steely as possible. He watches her and swears that she’s trying to stifle a laugh.  
  
“Parrish.” The Sheriff’s voice makes Jordan turn his gaze away from Lydia, settling on the serious expression of the older man. “She’s your responsibility, so wherever you go, she goes too. She specializes in computer forensics, but I want her to see the different ways the NYPD works and how it feels like to be out on the field.”  
  
Jordan nods and Lydia smiles, “thank you, Sheriff.”  
  
“Of course,” Stilinski replies with a warm smile back, “you deserve this internship. Oh, and before I forget, do you mind telling Stiles to stop harassing my officers about confidential case information? It’s getting annoying.”  
  
Lydia laughs. It’s a nice laugh. “I’ll let him know.”  
  
The Sheriff gives the two of them another smile before excusing himself to go check up on something with the police commissioner, leaving Jordan alone with Lydia. And the first thing that leaves his mouth is, “Why didn’t you tell me you were only eighteen?” Jordan doesn’t realize how stupid it sounds until it’s out in the open and Lydia gives him an amused look in response.  
  
“I can ask you the same thing,” she says firmly, but still smiling. “You didn’t tell me you were a deputy. So we’re pretty much even, don’t you think?”  
  
“You do know that you were in an over twenty-one bar and I could have arrested you?” Jordan says seriously, while also thinking that it was partially his fault too, since he bought her a drink and all.  
  
Lydia takes a step closer to him. “Are you going to arrest me _now?_  
  
Jordan steps back almost instinctively, but it doesn’t help the fact that the room suddenly feels very _hot._ As he moves away to put some space between them, he nearly trips over one of the chairs in the room, getting a muffled snort from the strawberry blonde. “I-I...Let me show you where you’ll be working,” Jordan  says quickly, moving around Lydia and opening the door. She steps out, smirking, and he follows behind her, while simultaneously thinking about what he could have possibly had done in his past life to put him in such a situation.  
  
Jordan leads her and as they walk, he can’t help but sideways glance at her a few times, even though he tries his best not to. But he can’t resist, because she’s wearing another dress, a nice light blue color that makes her sort of glow, and he thinks that she looks beautiful like that; hair slightly messy from the autumn wind outside, skin radiating from the warmth of the station, while her glassy green eyes look around curiously. He glances down at her red lips then, his mind drifting back to when he kissed her and how she felt so warm and soft and—damn it. He shouldn’t be thinking about that, definitely not now, definitely not _ever_. _She’s eighteen. You’re six years her senior. Stop it.  
_  
“This is the squad room, where most of the officers assemble, for assignments and briefing, and basically where all the work gets done,” Jordan starts explaining, as the two of them enter the room.  
  
“I know what a squad room is _deputy_ ,” she responds with another smile as she slowly walks around, her heels clicking against the floor. Jordan watches her and notices how the other officers in the room glance up at her momentarily, probably just as surprised as him on what a beautiful girl like her could possibly be doing here.  
  
He follows after herr, grabbing her softly by the elbow before she can peer at an open case file someone left on their desk carelessly, making him realize that she’s a curious one, and how he should be loathing the whole idea of this already, but strangely, he’s not. “Let me introduce you to the others,” Jordan says, gesturing towards the officers who were eyeing her just moments ago.  
  
Lydia smiles. “Sounds good.”  
  
Jordan doesn’t even get a chance to introduce her to anyone, however, because from the corner of the his eye, he sees Malia enter the room and the expression on her face when she sees Lydia? Utter disbelief.  
  
“No fucking way,” she says, walking over, and Jordan has to stop himself from pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers like he usually does, because it’s _Malia_. Her light brown eyes glance over Lydia, “aren’t you the girl from the— “ She doesn’t get a chance to finish because Jordan grabs her by the arm, dragging her away from Lydia while telling Danny to finish showing the strawberry blonde around.  
  
“We didn’t sleep together,” is the first thing Jordan says to Malia when they’re out of earshot.  
  
Malia furrows her eyebrows as if she’s trying to register what he just said. Then she punches him on the shoulder like she usually does, hissing, “you’re telling me this now?!”  
  
“Sorry?” Jordan says, even though he doesn’t know why he’s apologizing. “So, please don’t bring it up.”  
  
Malia crosses her arms and glances back towards Lydia, who’s discussing something with Danny in front of his computer, and then frowns back at Jordan. “Don’t you like her though?”  
  
Jordan can’t help but feel surprised by the sudden question. To be completely honest, he doesn’t know what he feels at the moment. He barely knows her, but he can’t help but feel intrigued by her nevertheless. “She’s eighteen,” he says instead, as if the answer justifies anything. “And she’s good friends with the Sheriff’s son. I don’t want to make things awkward for the both of us, especially not after the Sheriff’s just starting to trust me with the bigger cases. So—”  
  
“Strictly professional relationship, yeah, I got it,” Malia says, giving him a half smile. “I won’t say anything.”  
  
“Thanks,” Jordan says in relief, “I appreciate it.”  
  
Malia rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Just remember one thing though— “ and she leans in closer to him so that she’s whispering, “—you’ll regret _not_ kissing her again more than you’ll regret actually kissing her.”  
  
Jordan’s eyes go wide at her logic and Malia walks away with a smug smile before he even has the chance to say anything in reply. _Damnit Malia_ , he thinks, because he finds himself thinking about Lydia’s lips again as he makes his way back to the strawberry blonde. She’s taken Danny’s place in his seat, typing away on the computer while he peers at the screen over her shoulder. When Jordan comes over, he grins at him widely, “hey, Jordan, remember how the computers were having security problems and erasing away case files we saved on it? Yeah, Lydia just fixed all that in _less than fifteen minutes_. How cool is that? I’ve been trying to fix it for days.”  
  
“Wow,” Jordan says, genuinely surprised. He knew she specialized in computers, but he didn’t think she’d be that _good._ “So we can start inputting the cases on file digitally without losing them?”  
  
Danny nods and then turns towards Lydia again, smiling, “we can definitely get used to you around here.”  
  
“Glad to hear that,” Lydia says, smug look on her face as she gets up and straightens out the wrinkles on the skirt of her dress before looking over at him.  
  
“That’s impressive,” Jordan compliments, because he’s never actually been a super tech savvy kind of guy.  
  
Lydia purses her lips at him, as if it’s a compliment she’s heard too many times, and he doesn’t doubt that she has. “I’m impressive at many things,” she replies with a particular sparkle in her eyes, and Jordan doesn’t doubt that either, because from what he already knows, she’s also a pretty good kisser.  
  
He doesn’t dare say that out loud though. “I’m sure you are,” he replies instead, even though he can’t help but feel curious at _what else_ she might be good at. He tries not to think too much about that though, otherwise he’s sure his face will turn red and his heart will start fluttering wildly in his chest like it did when he first saw her at the bar. “But I hope you don’t mind using those fantastic skills for completing mundane paperwork?” Jordan finally says, his green eyes meeting hers.  
  
“We all have to start somewhere,” she says, evidently humored from her tone. “Do I get my own desk at least?” She jokes.  
  
Jordan chuckles lowly in response. “Sorry, you’re gonna have to work your way up there,” he says, leading the way to one of the desks that looked like it was already occupied by someone else. “But Malia doesn’t mind sharing.”  
  
“I don’t?” Malia walks over from who knows where and gives Jordan a questionable glance.  
  
“Sheriff’s orders,” Jordan tells her and Malia scowls before sitting down.  
  
“ _Just because I’m the newbie_ ,” he hears her mutter, before opening up a large file of paperwork that Jordan swears he’s seen sitting on Malia’s desk for the past week.  
  
Jordan then turns towards Lydia, who takes a seat across from Malia, already starting on the paperwork sitting in front of her. “If you need anything,” he starts, making her glance up at him with those wide green eyes of her, which makes him shift awkwardly as he continues, “um, just let me know. Even if it’s just coffee or you need a break or—”  
  
“I’ll let you know,” Lydia finishes for him, smiling. Her smile makes him mesmerized for a moment, forgetting all other thoughts, but then Malia snaps her fingers and it’s like the spell is broken.  
  
“Or you know, you can always ask _me_ ,” she says bluntly, wiggling her eyebrows.  
  
“Do that withextreme caution,” Jordan whispers to Lydia with a smirk, but Malia hears him because she shifts to pick up a pen that he’s sure she’s going to throw at him, so he moves away quickly, but not fast enough because he feels it hit his back before falling to the floor.  
  
“Next time it’s going to be my fist!”  
  
Jordan chuckles and heads back to his desk.

The rest of the morning drags by rather slow, filled with nothing particularly interesting, just more and more paperwork that Jordan can’t seem to find an end to, although he manages to distract himself long enough to glance up at Lydia whenever she passes by. Most of the time she passes by him just to get more coffee but around noon, Malia finally takes the initiative to show Lydia that if she kicks the vending machine hard enough, she can get _two_ energy drinks instead of one, and Jordan finds it oddly adorable for some reason. And as the day drags on, he ends up sneaking glances at her more than he can help it, watching her as she types away at the computer, focused expression on her face, her strawberry blonde falling in front of her face at times before she finally decides to pull it up and into a ponytail, and even then she looks mesmerizing. He’s brought out of his reverie though when the Sheriff comes striding into the room, a troubled look on his face, and Jordan knows that whatever it is he’s going to say can’t be good.  
  
“There’s a supposed 207 down on  fifth avenue,” Stilinski tells him quickly, the transmitter in his hand chattering with muffled voices from who Jordan assumes are the officers already down at the crime scene. “I need you to go check it out,” Stilinski continues, “take Malia with you. Make sure the media doesn’t get anything on this yet.”  
  
Jordan nods, already reaching for his jacket and shrugging it on as he makes his way towards Malia, the squad room suddenly in a frenzy and it always amazes Jordan how fast the room can go from dull to lively at the sound of a supposed kidnapping. “Malia, 207 down on fifth, let’s go,” he tells her without another glance, already turning to leave. It’s only when he hears shuffling and the clicking of heels following after him does he stop and turn around again.  
  
Lydia nearly crashes into him and he instinctively grabs her by the shoulders, stopping her before she does. “What are you doing?” He asks.  
  
She frowns. “It’s a 207, _a kidnapping._ What’s a better experience than getting hands on at a real crime scene?” She says with a bit of attitude, as if it should be obvious that of course she’s going to be coming along with him.  
  
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Jordan says, remembering how the Sheriff had emphasized that she’s _his_ responsibility, and he definitely doesn’t want to fail him when it’s only been the first day. “Maybe next time.”  
  
“The Sheriff said wherever you go, I go, _so I’m going_.” Her tone is stubborn and the way she says it makes it seem like it’s the end of the discussion and that she’s not going to take no for an answer.  
  
Jordan sighs, because he can’t believe he’s actually going to give in so easily. “Fine. But you won’t touch anything and you’ll stay close to me, got that?” He tells her, voice steely as can be.  
  
“Glued to your side. Got it,” Lydia says excitedly, and Jordan can’t help but feel like she’s the only one excited about this in the whole station.  
  
“Alright then,” he says, giving her one more look, as if waiting for her to change her mind even though he knows that’s not highly unlikely. “Let’s go.”

 

**

 

The drive to East Harlem is overwhelmingly silent between the three of them, and the fact that Malia keeps messing with the radio in the front seat doesn’t make anything better. But Jordan doesn’t say anything. Instead, he  turns a right on to the next street, his eyes quickly glancing in the rearview mirror back at Lydia, who looks surprisingly calm to him. He wonders if she’s even ever been to a crime scene before, something he wishes he should have asked her back when he was debating whether to let her tag along to not. _Good thing it’s not a murder scene_ , he thinks as he pulls over to the side of the street where the other police cars are parked, in front of a townhouse nestled in the corner of the street. The three of them get out of the police cruiser and Jordan realizes that Lydia wasn’t lying when she said she’d be glued to him because he can feel the warmth of her body from how close she walks alongside him as they make their way towards the house. The place is already surrounded by a thicket of bright yellow tape, along with a few police officers manning the place from the outside. Malia and Jordan make their way underneath the tape without getting stopped, but just as Lydia’s about to do the same, one of the police officers grabs her by the arm, stopping her.  
  
“Where do you think you’re going, miss?”  The officer asks sternly.  
  
“She’s with me,” Jordan says quickly, not completely surprised that Lydia was stopped, since she looks like she belongs more at a high end boutique than a crime scene.  
  
As soon as he says that, the officer lets go of Lydia, but that doesn’t stop him from giving her a strange look, which Lydia returns with her own look, a look that could literally kill. The officer backs off after that and Jordan, placing a hand on the small of Lydia’s back, guides her into the house, following after Malia. “Maybe next time you should lose the dress and heels,” he whispers to her as they step inside, the place bustling with officers and private investigators.  
  
Lydia glances up at him, brow arched. “Do you have a problem with what I’m wearing, deputy?”  
  
He gives her a flustered look, “You know that’s not what I meant.” And he really didn’t mean it in that way, he doesn’t mind what she’s wearing actually, but it’s  a different story for everyone else.  
  
“Good, because I don’t have a problem and that’s all that matters,” she replies comfortably as her eyes start to dart around the place.  
  
Jordan nods, thinking best of just ending the discussion there. The house is almost complete darkness on the inside except for the sunlight that peeks through the drawn curtains, spilling across the floor. Malia tries switching on a light, but to no avail.  
  
“Don’t bother. Her electricity was cut off last night.”  
  
Jordan recognizes that voice, but it still takes a while to connect it to his face, since he’s only been working with the NYPD for a little over a week. Detective Derek Hale enters the room, wearing the same gruff expression that Jordan’s so used to seeing since the guy never seems to smile. There’s a running joke in the police station actually that the guy sort of resembles the grumpy cat internet meme and ever since then, Jordan has to stifle a chuckle whenever he sees the brooding man. “And who’s exactly _she?_ ” Jordan asks, watching as Derek crouches to the ground, examining a pair of muddy footsteps imprinted into the floor.  
  
“A girl by the name of Kayleen Betcher.” Derek stands up again and that’s when he finally notices Lydia standing next to Jordan, his eyes giving her an intense once over.  
  
Before Jordan can even open his mouth to introduce the strawberry blonde, Lydia beats him to it, extending out her hand to Derek with a confident smile. “Hello. I’m Lydia Martin, NYPD intern. I also specialize in computer forensics.”  
  
Derek, however, isn’t as impressed as Jordan was earlier. He just stares at Lydia’s extended hand, not even bothering to shake it or even return her smile. Instead, he turns to Jordan and says, “Make sure she doesn’t touch any potential evidence.” His tone is firm and his demeanor is rigid as he crosses his arms and leaves the room towards some other part of the house.  
  
Lydia drops her hand and frowns. “What the hell is his problem?” she mutters.  
  
Malia smirks. “Nobody knows.”  
  
Jordan gives Lydia a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry, he’s...kind of like that with everyone. But the Sheriff and him apparently go back, so he’s reliable when it comes to his job.” That’s probably the only thing Jordan knows about the mysterious Derek Hale that’s true. There’s always rumors going around the station though, some officers gossiping that he was convicted of murder before or had killed a man with his own two hands. Other rumors, however, weren’t so criminalizing, like Danny, who believes that with a body like his, Derek had to have been a model at some point in his life. Jordan, on the other hand, just hopes that neither the former or the latter are true.    
  
Malia snorts, “Yeah but that doesn’t give him the right to be an ass to everyone.”  
  
Jordan rolls his eyes at her. “Come on.” He makes his way towards the kitchen then, his eyes glancing from the torn floral wallpaper and the tiled floors that looked a little dusty, to a black vase with a single rose sitting in the middle of the dinner table, which Jordan finds a little strange. But he doesn’t have time to think about it that much because his eyes immediately catch the bloody crimson handprints stamped on to the wallpapered wall. They’re small handprints, with long slender finger prints and Jordan assumes that they belong to the victim, Kayleen. He glances over his shoulder back at Lydia, finding her standing at the threshold of the kitchen, not moving any further, a disturbed looking expression on her face. Jordan’s about to ask her if she’s okay, but Malia interrupts him from doing so.  
  
“So someone attacked her in the kitchen then?” She asks, examining the handprints.  
  
“Stabbed her,” Derek says, appearing once again. “In the abdomen most likely. So it would be more difficult for her to run away.”  
  
Jordan’s eyebrows furrowed. “She must have grabbed her side then, instinctively from being stabbed. So the blood stained her hands and transferred to the wall when she must have touched it,” he says, putting two and two together.  
  
Derek nods. “Correct.”  
  
“Wait, but if she was stabbed, then she would need medical attention otherwise she’d die from the loss of blood or injury to vital organs, no?” Malia questions. “Did anyone check local hospitals to see if she was checked in?”  
  
“We checked and no one checked in with stab wounds in the abdomen area in the past twelve hours,” Derek replies surely.  
  
“But why would anyone want to kidnap her? And most importantly why would they stab her if there’s a high possibility that she might _die_ from it? Doesn’t that just make the kidnapping pointless?” Jordan asks, confused. Because from all the kidnapping cases he’s handled in the past six months, they were usually kidnappings of daughters from influent and rich families, where the kidnapper would blackmail the family for a large amount of money. He never came across a case where the victim was severely hurt, just shaken up, until now that is. Jordan looks over at Derek again, expecting some kind of reasonable answer, since the man somehow always had an answer to everything.  
  
But instead, Derek doesn’t say anything. His attention is somewhere else, his eyes intensely staring out of the kitchen and into the hall. Jordan narrows  his eyes suspiciously. “What’s wrong?”  
  
“Where did she go?”  
  
“Who?” Malia asks.  
  
Derek groans annoyingly. “The girl that was with you. The intern.”  
  
“Lydia? She’s right here—” Jordan gestures behind him, but then his breath hitches when he realizes that the strawberry blonde is gone. His eyebrows furrow once more as he quickly steps out of the kitchen, scanning the outside hall, but he doesn’t see her anywhere. _Damn it._ Jordan should have knew that it was a bad idea to bring her along, _what was I thinking?_ Then he remembers that he really wasn’t thinking, since he was too busy being mesmerized by her instead.  
  
The deputy makes his way upstairs, his gut feeling telling him that Lydia’s up there. She’s a curious one, so he’s not surprised that she did wander off, despite Jordan telling her to stay close to him. When he makes it to the top of the staircase, there’s only one door that’s slightly open out of all of the other rooms and he automatically figures that she’s inside.

  
And she is.  
  
Lydia’s hair is an inferno, burning brightly in the dark room as she traces her fingers down each book spine, her back facing him, not noticing that he enters the room. “Lydia, you’re not supposed to be in here,” he says, his tone of voice soft instead of irritated as it should be, but for some reason, Jordan can’t find himself to get angry at the girl.  Lydia doesn’t hear him however—or she chooses not to hear him, which Jordan doesn’t understand why she would do that since he’s standing right there. “Lydia.” He moves closer to her, close enough until he can place a gentle hand on her shoulder.  
  
She flinches from his touch, quickly whipping around and almost hitting him in the face with her curls. She stares at him wide-eyed, as if she’s been in a trance this whole time and Jordan just broke it. Jordan watches as she looks away from him and then examines her surroundings nervously, almost as if giving off the impression that she doesn’t know how she got inside the room in the first place. And if that really is the case, Jordan doesn’t know what to think about that.  
  
“Lydia—”  
  
“There’s something behind the bookcase,” she deadpans, glancing back at it, and before Jordan can even question her, she moves slowly towards it again, her fingers reaching out towards one of the books and pulling it out of its place on the shelf. As soon as she does that, the book case starts to move, _literally_. Jordan has to blink a few times to make sure what he’s looking at is really happening, and it is. The bookcase retreats backwards into the wall until it’s evident that it’s not just a bookcase, it’s a door. A door to a secret room.  
  
Lydia takes a step forward but before she can go any further, Jordan stops her, puts a hand on her shoulder and steps in front of her, letting her know that he’s going in first. And usually in a normal situation, he’d tell Lydia to stay here rather than to follow him in, but this is anything but a normal situation. A hundred questions are buzzing through Jordan’s mind, but the most important one?  
  
 _What is Lydia Martin?_  
  
It’s a strange question now that he thinks about it, but it’s the first one that pops up into his mind as he pushes the bookcase open, revealing a dark hallway. He doesn’t even know what answer he means to get by asking that question, in fact, he doesn’t even know what he _means_. She’s an eighteen year old girl. A smart eighteen year old. A smart and stunningly beautifuleighteen year old girl who’s way out of his league.  
  
What else can she be?  
  
Jordan cautiously walks through the hallway with the strawberry blonde following closely behind him, his flashlight pointed directly in front of them and at first they don’t see anything, but then a single white door comes into view at the very end of the hall. Jordan stops and glances back at Lydia, to make sure she’s still there, and she returns the gaze with frightened, overwhelmed eyes but the deputy also catches the small glint behind them, a sparkle of curiosity that wants to know what’s behind the door just as much as he does. Before Jordan opens the door though, he does what any good deputy does in a situation like this, he pats his holster to make sure he has not only his gun, but also his taser and knife, and when he’s absolutely positive that he has everything, he reaches for the door knob. He turns it slowly, making the atmosphere thick with anticipation, to the point where he feels Lydia’s hand grip the cuff of his jacket. The door creaks open just as slowly, the squeaking of the hinges echoing through the hall, making Jordan think of the whole scene as something from a horror film.  
  
And as he steps inside, he realizes that’s exactly what it is.  
  
From all his time spent in the army to the six months he’s been stationed here in New York, Jordan’s seen everything from blown up body parts to mutilated bodies and even splattered brain matter across a wall once. In other words, he’s seen some brutal stuff. But Lydia? He’s pretty sure that the strawberry blonde’s never experienced anything of the similar. So when Jordan sees the body, almost unrecognizable because of all the lacerations, with blood splattered across the white sheets of the bed in the even more white washed room, the deputy’s already ushering her out of the room. She doesn’t need to see this.  
  
Hedoesn’t want her to see this.  
  
To his relief, she doesn’t protest as he leads her out with a steady hand on her back. He can tell that she’s shaken up and he wonders if that’s the first dead body she’s ever seen.  
  
When they make it back outside and Jordan’s pushes the bookcase back into the wall, he glances back at Lydia and sees her fidgeting with the hem of her dress, indicating to him that she’s more shaken up than she appears. He wants to say something to her, anything to comfort her, but his mind is blank because he doesn’t know what to say to an eighteen year old who’s just witnessed a disfigured bloody corpse for possibly the first time.  
  
Instead, he reaches for his transmitter and calls it in. “I’m going to need an ambulance fast over on fifth avenue. The attempted 207 reported earlier has been confirmed false, a dead body, possibly of Kayleen Betcher has been found instead at the scene of the crime.”

 

**

                                                                               
  
Malia stays back to help Derek with the rest of the investigation, leaving Jordan to drop Lydia off back to her house because he thinks she’s witnessed enough for one day. They drive in silence, the only words exchanged between the two being when Lydia tells him which streets to turn on. He gives her quick glances through the duration of the drive, notices that although much more composed than before, her fingers are now clutching the fabric of her skirt instead of fiddling with it, showing that she’s still a bit off—still a bit nervous. Jordan doesn’t blame her though, because although he’s encountered countless dead bodies, they still manage to make his stomach churn unpleasantly.  
  
When he’s practically in her neighborhood and only a few blocks down from her house—and surprisingly, he’s _not_ surprised that she lives in the more affluent part of the city—he pulls the car over to the side of the street and stops. He looks over at her and sees that she doesn’t even notice that they’ve stopped, her eyes are wide and staring a little wildly straight ahead, at particularly nothing. It’s only then that Jordan notices that she’s breathing extremely fast and when it doesn’t slow in the passing moments, he touches her shoulder gently. “Lydia, are you okay?”  
  
She flinches from his touch but doesn’t pull away, instead just stares at him with those wide eyes of hers like she did back at the house, and Jordan notices how the tight grip from her hands on her dress loosens and her breathing starts to moderate. Her eyebrows furrow and she looks away from him, out the windshield, only noticing at the moment that they’re in her neighborhood.  
  
“Lydia? Is everything okay?” He asks again, starting to worry now.  
  
She turns back to him and nods jerkily. “Yeah. It’s just—” She pauses, doesn’t finish.  
  
“It’s just what?”  
  
She shakes her head. “Nothing.”  
  
Jordan narrows his eyes. He knows it’s not nothing, he knows there’s definitely _something_ , but he also knows better than to push her about it, especially when she’s like this. So instead, he starts the car again and after checking his rear view mirrors, pulls on to the road, driving the remaining few blocks to her house. When he stops for the second time, he finds Lydia staring at him intensely, her lips pressed into a thin line as if she wants to ask him something.  
  
“What is it?”  
  
She sighs. “I just wanted to say that everything that happened between us at the bar…”  
  
He feels his face heat up a little at the mention. “I get it,” he interrupts her, “you want to start fresh, act like it never happened. I’m totally okay with that, I’m okay with anything as long as you’re comfortable. I don’t want to make things feel awkward for you, now that we’re working together.” Ever since he met Lydia in the morning, he’s been thinking of how to bring up this conversation without making things too awkward, because he doesn’t want what could have been just a one night stand to affect their now, somewhat, professional relationship. But when he looks at Lydia, trying to read her expression, he catches a hint of surprise in her look, as if she wasn’t expecting him to say that.  
  
“I….,” she starts, “I’d like that.” She gives him a small smile and Jordan can’t help but think that she was going to say something else initially. But he doesn’t bring it up and she doesn’t say more on the subject. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says, opening the door.  
  
“Wait,” Jordan stops her, making her glance back at him. “Can I ask you something?” Lydia closes the door, giving him his full attention, as he continues, “how did you know?”  
  
“Know what?”  
  
 _That there was a dead body_ , he almost says, but instead— “That there was something behind the bookcase?” He fully expects her to give some sort of logical explanation, that the dimensions were off or the mechanism wasn’t concealed that great, just something, anything that could explain it. But the answer he gets leaves him even more puzzled.  
  
“It was just a feeling,” Lydia replies, not meeting his gaze. “I...just felt drawn there.”  
  
“That’s a really strong feeling you have there,” Jordan comments. And then, without thinking twice about it, he says, “maybe you’re psychic.”  
  
She snorts at this, her lips curving up in a smile as she glances up at him. “Don’t tell me _you_ believe in all that?”  
  
He shrugs, flashing her a grin. “I’d like to say I don’t believe in anything, but I keep an open mind,” he says a little too flirtatiously, and he thinks, _wait, what am I doing?!  
  
_ Lydia catches his flirtatious tone because she smirks at him, clearly amused. “I’m not...psychic,” she scoffs, opening the door again and this time stepping out fully.  
  
“Well, I believe you’re something,” Jordan tells her, because he truly does think that there’s something out of the ordinary about her, something different.  
  
She smiles at him through the open door, but it’s anything but sincere. “Why are you so interested in me?” She asks almost offhandedly.  
  
The right thing for him to say would be that he’s not, but he knows he’d be lying if he did. “You’re a person of interest,” he answers instead, because it’s the truth. He’s unbelievably intrigued by her.  
  
Lydia looks at him with an arched brow, and if he thought she looked vulnerable just a little while ago, she definitely doesn’t look it now—or she’s good at hiding it at least. “I’m not psychic,” she repeats primly, before slamming the door shut and striding away.  
  
Jordan watches her make her way up the front steps and then disappear inside the house without even giving him a second glance, and he thinks, she’s definitely something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~yes i totally used dialogue from the show but isn't the context perfect? no? ok~~


	3. Arsonist's Lullaby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a late update! But it's HERE!! Also, just a really small minor thing I changed in the last two chapters, I decided to change Lydia's uni from NYU to Columbia university just bc i think that's more realistic since Lydia's a supposed genius. :)
> 
> Anywho, enjoy the chapter and as always, any type of feedback is highly appreciated!
> 
> And happy thanksgiving! Or for those who don't celebrate, happy Thursday! Keep rocking, it's practically almost the weekend  
> (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
> 
> title taken from Arsonists Lullaby by Hozier [(x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-eJbxI-jZbA)

**  
L Y D I A**

* * *

 

_When I was a child, I heard voices...  
Some would sing and some would scream  
You soon find you have few choices..  
I learned the voices died with me  
  
  
_

 

Lydia would be lying if she said she wasn’t surprised to see Jordan again.  
  
Because she was _definitely_ surprised.  
  
Of course, she didn’t show it as much as he did—she still smiles at the thought of his expression when he found out he bought a drink for a minor and almost had a one night stand with her—but nevertheless, she was pleasantly surprised. She never thought she’d see those soft green eyes look at her ever again after that night at the bar, but life has proved that it works in mysterious ways, because now she’s working with him.  
  
And Lydia doesn’t really know how to feel about that.  
  
But what surprised her the most from that day was when Jordan mentioned wanting to start over fresh, because he thought that was what she wanted, when in reality, all Lydia wanted to do was kiss him again. She wanted to kiss him like she did in the elevator of his apartment building, she wanted to kiss him and forget about what she saw back at the crime scene, forget the bloody dismembered body of a girl who didn’t deserve to die, forget the voice she heard, a voice specifically calling out to her, saying, _help me.  
  
_ That was the first time something like that ever happened—because every other time, all Lydia heard were people moments before they died. She had always been a bystander to it all, just listening to the helpless cries of innocent victims before they’re gone, because that’s all she can do, their last breaths filling Lydia’s ears as if they’re lying right next to her in her bed, as if they’re _dying_ right by her side.  
  
It’s something she wishes no one else ever has to endure.  
  
But now, it’s different. It’s different because she’s hearing dead people. Or that’s what she thinks it _is_ , their spirits and all.  
  
And maybe that’s why she wanted to kiss Jordan back in the car, because she was panicking, slowly losing herself, badly needing something to ground herself again, and she’s read somewhere in a book that holding your breath during a panic attack can help stop it, and what better way to do that than kissing?  
  
But then Jordan touched her arm in such a gentle way, and it felt like she was brought out of a trance, a stupor. And she’s slightly glad that she didn't force herself on him like that.  
  
Lydia doesn’t know how to explain any of it, and it wouldn’t be the first time she doesn’t know how to explain what’s going on with her. Only the first time, she didn’t know why she heard the voices in her head, why she always heard people dying. It was only after constant research for a few months that Allison finally put a name to it.  
  
 _You’re a banshee_ , she told her, _a wailing woman of death.  
  
_ And even though there was a name to it—to her now, it still didn’t help her understand it— _her_ —any better.  
  
That was eight months ago, and she can’t help but feel like nothing has changed.  
  
“Lydia?”  
  
Lydia brings her eyes up from where they’re fixated on her laptop, a website about banshees filling the screen before she hides the window and opens up another tab, because Allison is walking over to her now and she hasn’t told her best friend that she thinks there’s more to her powers or the fact that she found her very first dead body last week.  
  
“Did you find anything on Kayleen?” Allison asks, leaning casually against against the couch Lydia’s sitting on. Her eyebrows furrow when she notices the uneasy expression on the strawberry blonde’s face. “You okay Lyds?”  
  
Isaac’s lying on the sofa across from them, blocking the rest of the world out with headphones plugged into his ears, jamming to a Beatles song that Lydia can hear from where she’s sitting, and she can’t tell if it’s because she’s a banshee or if it’s just because Isaac just listens to his music way too loud. But either way since Isaac can’t hear how quickly her heart is beating, Lydia lies easily, “Yeah, I’m fine.” She gives Allison a reassuring smile, tossing her hair for good measure, and before the huntress can ask her anything else, Lydia clicks another window on her laptop, bringing up the New York University webpage. The school where Kayleen went to. The front page has a link to an article honoring her and Lydia clicks on it, the picture of a girl with short dark hair, too many piercings, and a lovely smile popping up on the screen.  
  
Allison peers over Lydia’s shoulder, reading the article with her. It doesn’t state anything that can entirely help them figure out who killed her, but Lydia finds out that she was majoring in biochemistry at NYU and had a special love for interior designing while also being a massive Doctor Who fan, a photo of her dressed up as the police box from last Halloween pictured in the article proving it as so. Scrolling through the article, there’s condolences listed from the students that knew her, her best friend, an old roommate from freshman year, and even her boyfriend. They all stated similar things, about what an amazing person she was and how devastated they are hearing that she’s gone now, all the while hoping that the cruel person who was responsible for her death gets caught and arrested.  
  
Lydia can’t help but bite her lip anxiously as she glances up at Allison, because Lydia still hasn’t told her yet about how she was at the crime scene last week, about how she heard voices drawing her towards the body. And the reason why Lydia hasn’t told Allison any of this yet is because of one reason that might seem particularly simple, when really it’s the most complex thing ever.  
  
She’s scared.  
  
Or more like _frightened_ out of her mind actually, because it’s been eight months since she’s been hearing these voices and everything she’s ever read about banshees—she pretty much scoured the whole Columbia library for mythology books—has never stated that banshees can hear the voices of the dead. They can only hear voices of people right before their imminent deaths. And Lydia’s also certainly never read anything that states that banshees end up finding the dead bodies of these people afterwards.  
  
It just doesn’t make any sense.  
  
And _because_ it doesn’t make any sense, part of Lydia wants to believe that she was just hallucinating, that her finding Kayleen’s body was just a really bad coincidence and that’s all. But no matter how much Lydia tries to reassure herself by saying it over and over in her mind, she knows it wasn’t a coincidence at all.  
  
Her powers—if you can call them that—are getting stronger.  
  
And Lydia doesn’t know whether that’s a good thing or a _really_ bad thing.  
  
“Are you guys still looking into that girl’s death?” Isaac’s voice makes both Lydia and Allison look up at him, where he now sits up on the couch, removing the headphones from his ears and giving them a look that says _you’re wasting your time._ “If you haven’t figured it out yet, let me tell you then. She lived in East Harlem, the place with the _highest_ violent crime rate in Manhattan. That should make it obvious. However she died, however she was murdered, there’s no underlying supernatural thing to it, okay? For all we know, the boyfriend probably did it.”  
  
Allison narrows her eyes at Isaac and Lydia just rolls her eyes, because she and Allison both know that Isaac would rather want it to be a normal homicide than get stuck in some supernatural shit again. Lydia opens her mouth to argue, but then another voice interrupts.  
  
“And like always, you are _wrong._ ”  
  
The three of them all turn their heads, watching as Erica Reyes strides into the room, hips swaying with a purpose and her dangerous red mouth quirked up in a smirk. Lydia instantly catches the file she’s holding in her fingertips, _CONFIDENTIAL_ stamped across the front side as she tosses it on to the coffee table in front of everyone. “This is nothing else _except_ supernatural,” she says, tossing her blonde locks over her shoulder.  
  
Behind her, her assistant/scientist/best friend Vernon Boyd enters, a silent silhouette compared to the shining light that is Erica. And from what Lydia knows, Boyd never says much, mostly because Erica does enough talking for the both of them. But from the way Lydia catches Boyd sometimes looking at the blonde heiress with the softest look in his eyes, she knows that he doesn’t mind it.  
  
Allison quickly flips open the confidential file without hesitation, revealing the brutal photos of Kayleen’s mutilated body, and even though Lydia’s already seen the real thing, her breath still hitches at the gruesome close ups as Allison scatters them across the table.  
  
Isaac walks over, suddenly interested. “It looks like a wild animal attacked her.”  
  
“Not a wild animal,” Allison says, “a werewolf.”  
  
“And a newly turned one too. Thank god, at least someone’s on the same page as me,” Erica says, rolling her eyes at Isaac.  
  
Lydia tries her best to redirect her gaze anywhere else besides the photos, but her hand seems to betray her because before she knows it, she’s shakily lifting up one of the photos. It’s a shot of her face, bloody and battered, and just from examining it Lydia can tell that her skull was smashed in. She shivers. “How....did you get these?” she whispers, glancing over at Erica.  
  
Erica just smiles dangerously, while Boyd is the one that answers instead. “The person who took the photos is a good friend of mine,” he says simply.  
  
Isaac groans, “Ugh. Not another werewolf. Do we need wolfsbane? I can get wolfsbane. I can get _really strong wolfsbane._ ”  
  
Boyd narrows his eyes. “I think you’re forgetting the fact that if it’s a newly turned werewolf, there’s also another werewolf out there, a _stronger one_ most likely that turned him or her into one.”  
  
“An alpha,” Allison says, standing up now. “So basically double the threat.”  
  
“Not just an alpha,” Erica says, twirling a lock of hair with her finger, “an _alpha pack._ And how many alpha packs do we know?”  
  
“Wait, you think Deucalion’s pack did this?” Isaac asks.  
  
Erica rolls her eyes. “No, I think a mermaid did this. _Of course_ I freaking think Deucalion’s pack did this. I mean, they wanted to kill a bunch of people just for fun four months ago, what’s stopping them now? And besides, Allison did kill Ennis. Maybe they’re trying to avenge him.”  
  
Lydia watches as Allison shifts uncomfortably from Erica’s comment. She sighs. “Deucalion told me that he wouldn’t hurt anyone anymore.”  
  
Erica laughs, “and you believe that?”  
  
Allison gives her a look. “Yes, I do.”  
  
Lydia feels the tension of the room thicken between the two girls, making her get up from the couch and step in between the two. “Well, even if Deucalion’s behind this, we can’t just _approach_ him about it,” she says seriously to the blonde.  
  
“Actually, I was thinking that’s exactly what we should do,” Erica replies with a grin.  
  
Lydia’s eyes widen in shock. “What? You can’t be serious. _They’re dangerous._ Allison almost died the last time we confronted them!”  
  
“Lydia—” Allison puts a hand on her shoulder but Lydia jerks it away.  
  
“But she didn’t, did she?” Erica presses, stepping towards Lydia, towering over the strawberry blonde. “And if you haven’t noticed, Allison’s stronger now. Stronger than she ever was before.”  
  
“I don’t care if she’s stronger now, I don’t care if she can lift a thousand pounds of machinery, or heal faster now, _I don’t care_. Meeting Deucalion and his pack is still too dangerous,” Lydia says, and she says it with good reason too, because everyone else might but forget it, but Lydia will never forget when she almost saw Allison on the verge of dying because of them.  
  
“And who are you to make the calls?” Erica sneers at her, distastefully.  
  
Lydia’s never got along with Erica, almost like she’s never really gotten along with Isaac or Boyd either. To Isaac, Lydia’s just another person he might have to protect when she gets into the wrong place at the wrong time, while to Erica, she’s something to pity. _Your mother has drinking problems, your dad ran off with another woman, your relationship with your boyfriend is problematic, and you hear dead people in your head. Quite sad.  
  
_ And Boyd? Who knows what Boyd thinks of her.  
  
“I’m her best friend,” Lydia says, staring right into Erica’s blue eyes, because Lydia doesn’t need any other justification and she’s definitely not intimidated by the blonde heiress. Erica seems to realize this as well, because she flashes the strawberry blonde a half smile and then takes a few steps back away from her.  
  
“Lydia.” Allison gently pulls her away from Erica so that she’s looking at the huntress now. “I think...I think Erica’s right. “I know it sounds crazy, but I think it’s the best chance we have. Deucalion might know if a new werewolf is in the city with the intention of changing other innocent people into werewolves,” she explains.  
  
“ _Or_ ,” Lydia argues, “he and his alpha pack might be the ones turning these innocent people into werewolves to do their dirty work for them? Have you ever thought about that Allison?” Lydia’s mind travels back to nearly four months ago, when Deucalion and his pack came to New York City with the intention to kill people just for the fun of it. It makes Lydia’s stomach churn unpleasantly just at the thought of someone killing innocent people for no purpose at all besides for the feeling of superiority.  
  
“Lydia—”  
  
She cuts her off by raising her hand up, showing that she doesn’t want to talk about the subject anymore. “I need water,” is all she says quietly instead, as she makes her way to the kitchen. She hears Allison follow behind her.  
  
“Don’t worry about me,” Allison starts again once they’re alone, even though Isaac’s able to still hear everything they’re saying. “I’ve fought werewolves before.”  
  
“Yeah, and you _almost died_ ,” Lydia snaps, as if trying to make a point.  
  
“I’m stronger now,” she says, repeating Erica’s words  and Lydia doesn’t doubt it.  
  
She only has to think back to the chemical fire where Allison lifted an over a thousand pound machine in order to save someone stuck underneath it. Not only that, but her body heals better now. Ever since she got hurt nearly two weeks ago, Erica and Boyd took her back to the Red Room at ReyesCorp and did who knows what, but whatever they did, it amazes Lydia at how much stronger the huntress has gotten.  
  
(It also frightens her, but the strawberry blonde can never tell her that.)  
  
“If I don’t worry about you, who will?” Lydia says quietly instead, because even though Allison might be carrying the whole burden of New York City on her shoulders, she forgets too often to worry about herself, making Lydia be the one to make sure Allison doesn’t throw herself in front of gunfire again or run into a fire raging building without any protective equipment on, because Allison would do that—throw herself in front gunfire if it means saving a pregnant woman or a child, someone who can’t protect themselves like the way she can protect herself.  
  
But Allison forgets that she isn’t invincible, no matter how much she believes she is, and Lydia has to constantly remind her that.  
  
Allison smiles at her warmly. “As long as Athena’s looking out for me, I’ll always be safe.”  
  
Lydia tries her best to smile back. “I hope so.”  
  
“ _I know so,_ ” Allison whispers, bringing a hand up to Lydia’s cheek as she leans forward and softly presses a kiss on her forehead. The motherly gesture makes Lydia want to cry, because it reminds her so much of all the times her mother used to do the same, but she holds back. Then she whispers, “I have to go now. And please, stay safe okay?”  
  
Lydia nods slowly.  
  
The huntress smiles at her, and from what Lydia takes from her expression, it looks as if she wants to say something else too. But then Erica calls Allison from the front of the house telling her to hurry up, and whatever she wanted to say to Lydia would have to be left for another time. “I’ll see you soon,” Allison says instead and then she’s gone, before Lydia can even wish her good luck.

 

  
**

 

Lydia still remembers the day Allison almost died, because even if she tried, she couldn’t forget it. She remembers the way the summer breeze was blowing against her hair and the way the dim streetlights flickered overhead as she rushed into Central Park that warm night, her heels only making her able to run so fast. Her ears throbbed with the voices in her head, echoing the imminent death of another person, except the only difference was that this time, she had predicted the death of no other than her best friend.  
  
It was the only time she predicted wrong however, and Lydia still thanks a higher being every day for the fact that she was wrong.  
  
When Lydia finally found Allison that day, she was being choked by Ennis, one of alphas in Deucalion's pack. And at that time, Allison wasn’t that strong, not as strong as she is right now at least, but definitely not as strong as an alpha werewolf like Ennis, who was around three times bigger than her. Lydia remembers seeing her best friend writhing underneath the heavy weight of Ennis, her face turning a sickly white from the lack of oxygen and the way the werewolf's hands clenched at her throat, with the sole purpose to give her a slow, painful, torturous death.  
  
And Lydia did what anyone would do for their best friend.  
  
She remembers the cool feeling of the gun she had stolen from Allison’s room in her hands, her finger trembling at the trigger. Lydia was shaking all over because she had never used a gun before in her life until then, but if she had to use one in order to save her best friend, she would do it in a heartbeat. The gun wasn’t like any ordinary gun though, it was special in the fact that its bullets were _silver bullets_ , and every fictional book and TV show that ever said silver bullets were a werewolves’ weakness, they weren’t lying.  
  
Lydia pulled the trigger without a second thought, the bullet slicing through Ennis’ shoulder which made him let go of Allison and turn his attention towards her. Lydia’s legs were shaking, the gun still pointed directly at the alpha werewolf, and when Lydia tried to pull the trigger again, she couldn’t. It was like every muscle in her body had stopped working and before she knew it, Ennis was rushing towards her, knocking the gun out of her hand, making it slide across the ground, far away from her reach. Ennis then scooped up Lydia by the collar of her jacket and threw her harshly against a tree, her head hitting the rough bark of the tree with such an impact that her vision went black for a long few seconds. Her body laid strewn across the cold concrete in some pathetic way and the strawberry blonde was sure she wasn't going to make it.  
  
But she did, because Allison got up back on to her feet, bow and arrow gripped tightly in her fingertips, and just like how Lydia didn’t hesitate to shoot at an alpha werewolf, Allison didn’t hesitate in plunging an arrow right through his heart.  
  
It was the first time Allison ever killed someone, and it was all so she could protect her.  
  
Her phone suddenly buzzes, bringing her out of her thoughts as she checks the message.  
  
 **KIRA YUKIMURA [6:00 PM]: are we still meeting up for shopping today? :)  
  
** Lydia smiles. She’s nearly almost dressed to leave already, wearing a dark purple dress with black tights and a warm coat draped over because winter is just around the corner and New York City temperatures are dropping. She texts her back.  
  
 **LYDIA MARTIN [6:05 PM]: yeah, sure, meet you at Macy’s Herald Square around 6:45?  
  
KIRA YUKIMURA [6:09 PM]: okay! see you then!**  
  
Lydia sets her phone back down on her vanity and goes back to applying a dark pink gloss over her lips. It doesn’t take long for her to be interrupted again, however, because the doorbell chimes nearly moments later and echoes throughout the brownstone. She pads downstairs, not expecting anyone at this time, since she told Kira that she’d just meet up with her, not that Kira knows where she lives anyways, so when she opens the door and sees Stiles Stilinski looking as if he hasn’t slept in days, Lydia’s anything but surprised.

He’s wearing one of his signature flannel shirts and a beanie, probably to hide his horrid bed hair, and he opens his mouth to start talking but then gives her  a once over. And instead he says, “going out?”  
  
Lydia nods. “What are you doing here? And why does it look like you haven’t slept in days?”  
  
The dark circles beneath his eyes are obvious but his pupils are more dilated than usual, and Stiles squeezes through the open door before Lydia can open it any wider, and she lets him. “ _That’s because I haven’t,_ ” he answers, taking off his beanie and running his long fingers through his hair, messing it up even more and making him look like a mad man. “I just don’t get it.”  
  
Lydia closes the door and follows him back inside. “Don’t get what?”  
  
“The Kayleen murder case!” Stiles exclaims, starting to pace in the hallway. “I’ve talked to her mother, her former roommate, her neighbors, but nothing! I even stalked her boyfriend for half a day, and lemme tell you, he’s the more boring guy I’ve met, or well, stalked, since I’ve never met him—but that’s not my point! He’s kind of cute too, but gah, _that’s not the point_ , the point is that I just don’t understand who killed Kayleen Betcher. It doesn’t make any sense.”  
  
“Oh Stiles,” Lydia sighs loudly, because they’ve gone through this _a thousand times,_ “you’re a reporter, not a private investigator. Leave this for the professionals.” She reaches out to touch his shoulder to try and comfort him, but he flinches, not listening to her.  
  
“No, Lyds, this could be my big break!” He exclaims, “The city needs to know that there’s a psychopath on the loose!”  
  
Lydia rolls her eyes, because from what she knows, newly turned werewolves aren’t as dangerous as deranged psychopaths. “Stiles, I think you’ve had a little too much Adderall.”  
  
“No I haven’t!” He flays his hands around as if that would make it less suspicious, but Lydia narrows her eyes at him and his eye twitches as he gives in. “Alright, alright, I might have had a little too much, but this isn’t about me! It’s about Kayleen!”  
  
She glances at the clock hanging against the wall, it’s ten past six. Lydia really doesn’t have time for this. “Stiles, I’m running late, so can we continue this another time?” She starts heading for the door, grabbing her purse along the way while Stiles shuffles behind her. She stops at the mirror just to give a quick look at herself as she usually does, smacking her lips together to make sure her lipstick is in check, and Stiles takes that time to bother her some more.  
  
“I still have my suspicions on that boyfriend…,” he mumbles and then in a tone of revelation says, “wait, weren’t you at the crime scene?”  
  
Lydia stops smacking her lips and freezes. _Crap._ It takes her a few moments to compose herself, to remember that she’s already told Allison and the others that she wasn’t at the crime scene with the police, and that no one at the NYPD will probably be willing to admit that an eighteen year old intern found the body. Lydia smiles at him, “No, I wasn’t. It was my first day of the job, I mean, I heard about it, but I wasn’t there of course.” And then adds for good measure, “c’mon Stiles, they don’t just let eighteen year old girls walk around crime scenes like it’s nothing.” She gives him a _that’s ridiculous, what were you thinking?_ look and by the expression on Stiles’ face, she can see he still looks a bit doubtful but in the end, he accepts it.  
  
“Yeah...you’re right,” he says, shrugging, “what was I thinking? Definitely an effect of the Adderal.”  
  
Lydia tries her best to conceal the sigh of relief that leaves her lungs as she opens the door and steps outside. Stiles follows. “So, where are you going? Date with Jackson?”  
  
Lydia almost drops her keys from locking the door as soon as she hears Jackson’s name. She hasn’t told anyone yet of their break up, not that anyone would care actually, she would probably just get _told you so_ comments from Isaac and Erica, while Allison would probably tell her soothing words about how he was never right for her in the first place. But despite all that, for some reason, she tells Stiles. “We broke up,” she says as steely as possible while dropping her keys back into her bag.  
  
Stiles’ eyes widen at her words and he puts a hand over his mouth, probably to hide a guilty smile, before he says, “Wow, that’s great.” Lydia narrows her eyes at him and starts walking down the steps, because she _really_ doesn’t have time for this.  
  
“No—wait, I mean, it’s great because he was a total douchebag,” Stiles explains, jogging after her and placing a hand on her shoulder, stopping her on the sidewalk.  
  
Lydia flinches from his touch and frowns, hugging her body from the cold breeze that hits the oth of them. “I already know he was a douchebag okay,” she says, voice louder than normal. “But I can’t forget the fact that I was with him for _two_ years.” The words sting her throat and her tongue because they’re too heavy and they hang in the air suffocatingly.  
  
Stiles looks at her sadly. “ _Were you in love with him?_ Lydia, you’re eighteen.”  
  
Lydia snorts, because she’s eighteen while Stiles is only twenty-two and too many people have told her too many times that she doesn’t know what love is. And maybe she doesn’t, maybe she wasn’t in love in Jackson, but that doesn’t erase the fact that she was with him for nearly two years. And two years is a long time. “I don’t know if I was in love with him Stiles, but two years is a long time and I can’t just forget it like that.”  
  
“Lydia…”  
  
She stops him, “I really don’t want to talk about this right now.” Because even two weeks later and throwing everything out, she isn’t ready to talk about it.  
  
Stiles doesn’t push her any further. “Alright.” He stuffs his freezing hands into his pockets and then turns towards where his beat up Jeep is parked in front of the house. “Hey, let me drop you off. It’s too cold for you to walk.”  
  
“I was going to get a taxi.”  
  
“It’s too cold for that too!” He laughs to sort of break the tense atmosphere and Lydia gives him a tight smile before nodding and following him to his Jeep.  
  
The drive to 34th street is mostly non conversational, even though Stiles tries his best to make _some sort_ of conversation. It always ends up falling short though, because Lydia doesn’t feel like talking.  
  
“Are you mad at me?” Stiles finally asks, the question that was bothering him the most finally coming out.  
  
To be honest, Lydia isn’t even mad at him anymore. Sure, she was slightly angered by what he said to her, but she knows that anyone who knew her relationship would Jackson would have said something similar if not the same. No, the reason she doesn’t feel like talking is because her mind is too occupied with the events of last week. Lydia can only hope that Erica and Allison are right about Kayleen’s killer just being a newly turned werewolf, but even then it doesn’t explain why Lydia felt drawn to her, why she was the one who found the body out of everyone else. Why she heard _her_ voice.  
  
Stiles parks a few blocks away from the Macy’s because traffic is horrid and it’s impossible to find decent parking. “Thanks, I’ll talk to you later,” Lydia says offhandedly as she opens the door to leave.  
  
“Wait, Lydia, I’m sorry about what I said earlier,” Stiles says, making her turn back towards him. “Please don’t be mad?”  
  
Lydia gives him a small smile. “I’m not mad at you Stiles. I just...have a lot on my mind.”  
  
He nods, trying to understand. “Just know, Lydia, that you’ll find someone way better than Jackson one day. Someone who will treat you right and respect you and most importantly, _love you for who you are_.”  
  
Lydia doesn’t know what to exactly say to that, so she says the only thing she can. “Thanks.”  
  
He gives her a crooked smile. “Just saying the truth. Oh, and by the way, can you not tell my dad that I’ve been doing some private investigation on my own for the case?” He gives her a pleading look.  
  
Lydia laughs and gets out of the car. “Bye, Stiles.” She starts walking away but can still hear him calling after her from the car.  
  
 _Wait, so is that a yes?!_

  
  
**

 

Although it’s only November, it feels like Christmas as Kira and Lydia enter the ten story department store, which isn’t surprising since Christmas always hits early in New York City. The store is fully decorated to the brim, with green and red wreathed arches hanging overhead, Christmas lights dangling from the ceiling, an explosion of animated displays of winter scenery at every window, topped off with falling fake snow and a massive, elaborately decorated Christmas tree in the middle of the store.  
  
It makes Lydia want to puke.  
  
Coming from sunny California where snow is pretty much nonexistent, Lydia isn’t quite the fan of Christmas. But she has her own personal reasons for it.  
  
“I love coming here with my mom during the holidays,” Kira says, excitedly as they start walking to the juniors section. Lydia is definitely not surprised that Kira would love Christmas.  
  
“You’ve lived here your whole life right?” Lydia asks as she shifts through a rack of dresses.  
  
Kira nods, smile growing wider. “Yup, but for some reason I can never get enough of the holidays. New York City just makes it so much more...magical. Don’t you think?”  
  
Lydia has to try her best not to snort indelicately. “I’m not really the best person to give an answer to that,” she says instead, “since I’m not much of a Christmas enthusiast.”  
  
“Oh.” Kira pulls out a bright pink dress from the rack and Lydia scrunches her nose at it, making the girl immediately put it back and start looking again. “Well, um, can I ask why not?”  
  
“That dress _totally doesn’t_ give justice to your figure,” Lydia answers as she walks to the next dress rack, pulls out a black A-line dress which she decides she likes, and then tosses it over to Kira’s direction, who catches it clumsily.  
  
“No, I mean, why don’t you like the holidays?” Kira asks.  
  
Lydia doesn’t really know how to answer Kira’s question. She could tell Kira how one year her parents (when they were still together) left on a trip to Hawaii, _it’s for a business trip, not a vacation sweetheart,_ during the week of Christmas, making Lydia have to spend Christmas Eve at some party of a friend she barely knows getting completely wasted and then waking up on Christmas morning to open presents alone. Or, Lydia can tell Kira about all the times the Martin family has thrown Christmas parties where in the end, all the adults get drunk and her cousins barely pay notice to her because she’s beautiful and smart and they’re all just jealous of her. And because of that, Lydia would lock herself in her room during those parties, watching Christmas movies on her laptop because at least in movies the families always end up having a happy Christmas in the end.  
  
But Lydia doesn’t tell Kira any of that. “I guess I’ve just had some bad Christmases,” she replies, shooting her a smile.  
  
“Oh.” Kira nods, thankfully not pushing the discussion any further.  
  
Lydia takes charge when it comes to finding the perfect outfit for Kira since she realizes that Kira would be completely comfortable in wearing a t-shirt and jeans to her date, which is a big _no_ in Lydia’s handbook. So, for the next hour or two, Lydia spends forever sifting through the racks, tossing dresses at Kira and making her try every single one of them on, where most of the dresses either turn out to be too ill fitting or too revealing for Kira’s tastes, which Lydia absolutely respects even if it means making the job much more difficult.  
  
“I didn’t know shopping can be so tiring,” Kira groans as she slumps into one of the benches outside the waiting room. “ _Or_ hurt my feet so much.” She then glances up at Lydia and frowns. “Aren’t you _tired_? You’re wearing heels!”  
  
Lydia grins. “Shopping and walking in heels for long periods of time have become my specialities.” And it’s true, especially the latter. Lydia’s ran for her life while wearing heels so many times that if it was an olympic sport, she would win gold every time.  
  
Kira pouts and stands up again. “I’m gonna go pee.” She pads away and Lydia goes back to searching through the racks.  
  
She ends up wandering over to the Calvin Klein section when a particular red dress catches her eye. Removing it from the rack, Lydia admires the bright crimson color of it and the lace neckline, while thinking that it’s definitely something she can see herself wearing and how Jackson always loved her in red. She visibly cringes. _Jackson._ Angrily, she shoves the dress back, because she’s suppose to be looking for a dress for Kira, not for herself, since it’s not like she needs a new dress to show off to anyone anyways. But then she thinks, _maybe Kira will like it._ That thought makes Lydia take it off the rack again and hold on to it, because if she can’t have it, at least Kira can. Lydia’s about to head back to where she left her, but then someone catches her eye and she comes to a dead stop, surprising herself on how well she recognizes his dark tousled hair and bright green eyes even when he’s standing on the other side of the store floor.  
  
Jordan looks different when he’s not in his deputy uniform and even though the first time Lydia ever saw him he was in regular civilian clothes, she didn’t get much of a chance to appreciate it that much. Not to mention the fact that she’s been around Jordan so much in the past week that his uniform has become a part of him in her eyes. She hasn’t really seen him while he’s off duty, not until now that is.  
  
He’s wearing dark jeans like he was at the bar, except Lydia doesn’t know if she’s just noticing it now or was too buzzed on alcohol to notice it before, but his jeans fit him in all the right places. And the leather jacket look he has going on? His broad shoulders fill it out soo good, and— _God. What am I thinking? Pull yourself together Lydia, he’s a deputy for god’s sake._ She composes herself and watches as Jordan sifts through a rack of _dresses_ , and she arches an eyebrow questionably as she starts walking towards him. He doesn’t notice her though, not even when she’s pretending to look in the rack right next to him.  
  
“You know, the men’s department is on the _third floor_ ,” Lydia says, her voice startling him and making him jump.  
  
“Jesus Christ, Lydia? What are you doing here?” He asks her with furrowed eyebrows.  
  
She raises both eyebrows at him then, “I can be asking you the same thing, because, you know if this is your way of trying to get women…”  
  
“ _Oh God_ ,” he mumbles, putting his face in his hands while Lydia giggles. “It’s not what you think it is,” he explains, shooting her a look. “Malia needed a dress and she dragged me along for second opinion…”  
  
Now, Lydia really has to control her laughter.  
  
“It’s not funny,” Jordan says, “I’m just helping out a friend.”  
  
“That makes two of us,” she replies once she’s stopped laughing. “I’m here with my friend to help her pick out something to wear for her date with _your friend_ tomorrow.”  
  
“What a coincidence,” Jordan says, smiling at her as he watches her thumb through dresses. He pulls out a blue one from the rack and shows it to her, “uh, do you think she’d like this?”  
  
Lydia crinkles her nose. “If you show that to Malia, i’m pretty sure she’ll hurt you.”  
  
Jordan’s eyes go wide, almost frightened by the thought as he shoves the dress back on the rack. “Well—um, do you think you can help me out?”  
  
Lydia looks up at him and there’s something in that baby face of his that makes her smile softly and maybe even send a warm feeling rushing through her. “Yeah, of course.”  
  
After about fifteen minutes of looking, Lydia finds a magenta body con dress that would not only look amazing on Malia but is also a decent price, as Lydia learns from Jordan that a deputy’s pay is very pitiful.  
  
He takes the dress from her and grins. “Thanks. I’m pretty sure I’d be lost without you.”  
  
Lydia smiles coyly, “ _I know_. And I also know that if you stayed in the women’s section for too long, all the moms would have started flirting with you and I would have pitied you since I know you’re too polite to say _no._ ”  
  
Jordan chuckles. “Yeah, I’m kind of used to it by now.”  
  
Lydia giggles. “You’re a _mom magnet._ ”  
  
“Oh god,” he groans jokingly, “didn’t know that day would come.”  
  
They laugh together and it feels nice, to share that with him. “I should really get going,” Lydia finally says, because she only then remembers that she has to be getting back to Kira. A look of disappointment crosses Jordan’s features at the sound of that, surprising her.  
  
“Right,” he says, nodding in understanding. “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”  
  
“Yeah, tomorrow,” she replies, biting her lip a little, and then turning to leave.  
  
“Wait, Lydia,” Jordan calls out, stopping her by gently grabbing her arm. She glances at the grip he has on her and then looks back up at him slightly surprised again. Seeing her expression, Jordan’s ears turn pink and then lets her go quickly. “Uh, sorry.” His voice then drops to a whisper, “I just wanted to let you know that I didn’t tell anyone that you were the one that found the body...I thought that you’d rather want it to stay between us.”  
  
And Lydia does. She’s read the headlines of the news and so far, no one’s talked about how the body was found. Even the discovery of the secret room hasn’t been revealed to media yet. “I do, thank you,” Lydia says gratefully, and then because she’s also curious, adds, “did the police find any leads yet?”  
  
Jordan shakes his head. “Sadly, no. We actually did have some leads but we’ve crosschecked their alibis and they’re all in the clear.”  
  
Lydia’s gnawing on her lip now. “What about her boyfriend?”  
  
“We actually talked to him and he did have an alibi,” Jordan explains. “But we found out that he was actually lying, and _then_ we found out he was actually cheating on her with another _guy_ , and was at his house the night Kayleen was killed, so technically, he’s also in the clear.” He runs a hand through his hair, clearly distressed.  
  
Lydia frowns. She didn’t like seeing him like this. “Jordan,” she says in a reassuring voice, not thinking twice when she places a comforting hand on his shoulder, “we’ll find out who did this, I know we will.” She doesn’t know why she said _we_ , since she’s not really actually part of this case, but Lydia feels like it was the right thing to say at the moment.  
  
Jordan glances up at her and sighs. “I hope so,” he says as Lydia withdraws her hand. “Sorry, you should probably get going now.”  
  
She nods, glancing down at the red dress draped over her arm. She watches as his eyes follow hers, small smile on his lips.“That’s...a nice color on you.”  
  
His unexpected comment makes Lydia beam. “You think so?”  
  
He chuckles and nods, “ _I know so_. I mean, I might not know anything about fashion, but I’ve seen you in red before...” He shrugs and Lydia remembers that she wore a red dress the night she met him at the bar.  
  
“Thanks, but I actually picked this up for Kira,” Lydia explains.  
  
“I see, well that sucks, it would have looked great on you,” Jordan says again, and Lydia tries her best not to look stunned.  
  
When he leaves, Lydia stays frozen where she’s standing, feeling as if she’s unable to move. Although she knows that he probably just said it to be nice, she feels like actually buying the dress now, a thought that makes her want to kick herself in the face because she should be buying the dress if _she wants to_ , not because someone gave her a half-assed comment about it.  
  
Not that anything Jordan said was half-assed, it actually felt quite genuine to her.  
  
Lydia walks back to where she left Kira, but actually ends up bumping into the girl halfway there.  
  
“I’ve been looking for you!” Kira exclaims, although not as angry as Lydia expected her to be, because the girl has a wide smile on her face.  
  
“Sorry, bumped into a friend,” Lydia replies vaguely, because she rather not let Kira know that her potential date is in the same store as her.  
  
“It’s okay. In fact, I actually think I found the perfect dress.”  
  
Lydia’s eyes boggle. “What? Without me?”  
  
Kira nods triumphantly and then shows her the dress that she was hiding behind her back. “Ta-dah!” It’s a pretty thing, Lydia admits, a white floral dress that’s not too casual and not too fancy, just perfect for a first date.  
  
Lydia smiles. “You’re right, it’s perfect.”  
  
They walk to the counter together and as Kira is rung up, Lydia notices that she’s still holding on to the red dress. “Aren’t you getting that?” Kira asks after she’s done paying.  
  
Her fingers stroke against the crimson fabric as she finds Jordan’s words echoing through her ears. I _t would have looked great on you._ And she thinks, _would have?_ She glances up at Kira again, who’s looking at her with a confused expression.  
  
Lydia gives her a small smile. “You bet I am.”

 

  
  
**

  
Kira asks Lydia to stay for dinner at her house because her mom apparently makes amazing sushi, but Lydia denies, saying that maybe another time, and the only reason Lydia actually denies is because she’s starting to have a throbbing feeling in her head, as if a scream is starting to build up. And Lydia definitely doesn’t want to give that kind of first impression in front of Kira’s parents. Kira doesn’t push the discussion any further though, and that’s a trait that Lydia decides she really likes about her.  
  
After dropping Kira off at her house, the taxi then proceeds to drive Lydia back to the Upper East Manhattan, while the throbbing in her head only gets louder and more excruciating with each passing minute. She puts a hand to her temple, digging her fingers into her scalp roughly, but not for relief, for _focus._ She needs to focus, to get past the horrible pain and to the focal point, which in this case is trying to find out who’s going to die next.  
  
 _Your mind is like a hurricane,_ Allison once told her, _heavy rains, strong winds, chaos. But every hurricane has an eye, where the skies are clear and the winds are light. You need to get past the hurricane and get to the eye.  
  
_ It’s the perfect analogy, because it’s exactly how Lydia feels. Like she’s stuck in a hurricane, the powerful winds hitting her in the face and the cold rain soaking her to the bone, while she tries to find that one spot, that one spot where she can finally find peace. And amidst the throbbing pain, Lydia can finally make out the quiet whisperings of voices crowding her mind now, but they’re completely incomprehensible to her. She lets out a low whine, but just loud enough for the driver to hear, because he asks her if she’s okay.  
  
“I’m f-fine,” Lydia answers softly and the driver doesn’t question her again, because it’s not his position to do so, even though Lydia knows that she’s anything but fine.  
  
But she doesn’t give up either. She tries to tune out the pain and think of Allison’s words instead, _get past the hurricane and get to the eye_ , and as she repeats those words over and over again in her mind, she starts to feel the winds disappear, the rain stop. The fog around her disperses and it’s like all is clear again.  
  
The throbbing pain goes away and suddenly, like a revelation, Lydia can hear everything.  
  
She can hear the low hum of the engine of the car, the tapping of the driver’s fingers against the steering wheel, the bickering of a mother and her daughter in the kitchen of the house right next to her when the taxi stops at a red light. She’s experienced this before, but never to this degree, where she’s able to hear things that normal people can never hear. It makes her breath hitch, her heart pound in her chest, the blood rushing to her ears.  
  
And then she remembers that it’s because she’s not human.  
  
“Stop the car.” It comes out of her automatic, almost against her will, as her fingers dig into the leather seats because there’s too many noises clustering in her mind. And some of those noises, Lydia isn’t even sure if they’re real.  
  
Or alive.  
  
The driver pulls to the shoulder of the street, stopping the car just like the strawberry blonde instructed. Then, almost unconsciously, Lydia steps out of the car, pulls a twenty out of her purse and hands it to the driver. “Keep the change.”  
  
The driver pockets the twenty and then looks at her with an expression that almost looks as if he doesn’t know if he should be worried or not. “Miss, are you sure you want to stop here?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
He then sticks his head out the window, glancing around at the surroundings once before turning back to Lydia. “ _Are you sure?_ You’re in East Harlem, miss. It’s not safe for a woman like you to be out here so late in the night.”  
  
It’s only when the man mentions East Harlem does Lydia notice where she’s standing. Right across from Kayleen Betcher’s house. She notices how the yellow tape surrounding the house has been ripped once or twice, and that the light brown coloring of the place has been vandalized with gang writing. Darkness shrouds up and down the street, barely any lights visible from the windows of nearby houses while the streetlights flicker unreliably. And as Lydia stares at the house dead on, she hears it.  
  
A voice.A warning. The same one she heard back at the crime scene a week ago.  
  
 _Help me.  
  
_ “Miss?”  
  
Lydia redirects her gaze back at the driver and she gives him a tiny reassuring smile. “I’m fine. I live close by.”  
  
The driver shrugs, “if you say so.” It doesn’t take him more than ten seconds to drive away, leaving Lydia alone in the dark empty street with only the voices in her head.  
  
The right thing for her to do would be to call Allison, tell her that she’s standing in front of Kayleen Betcher’s house and feels like screaming. But no, Lydia doesn’t do that, because she’s not thinking straight as she slowly walks across the street towards the house. She walks as if in a state of trance, passing through the torn up yellow tape and making her way up the dirt ridden steps. She doesn’t think twice about the door being locked, because when her hand circles around the knob and turns, the door opens.  
  
Lydia doesn’t know why it’s open. Or _who_ opened it.  
  
But the voices of the house are beckoning for her and who is she to deny them? So, without another hesitation, she steps inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~don't tell me jordan looking for dresses isn't the cutest thing ever~~


	4. I Could Be There For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES I FINALLY UPDATED! I'm sorry for such a late update, I took two weeks off so I can study for finals and now I'm on break so yay that means chapter update!! This one has some action and I totally suck at writing action scenes but I hope you guys like it anyways :3
> 
> And as always, comments of any kind are totally appreciated!!
> 
> Title taken from this song: [[x]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VUCvDuDohFc)

**J O R D A N  
**

* * *

 

 _You're part mystery_    
 _And partly drawn, drawn to all things breathing  
_ _So ring ring ring ring, keep on breathing  
_ _Ring ring ring ring, keep on believing  
_ _If you open your door, oh  
_ _Would you open your door?_

 

  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“I-Is this—”  
  
There’s a fuzzy static noise blocking out the man’s voice on the other line, and Jordan strains his ears trying to hear. He gets up from his desk and walks away a few feet, wondering if it’s just bad signal. “Hello?” He repeats and then adds, “I can’t seem to hear you, sir.”  
  
There’s more shuffling. “Can you hear me now?”  
  
“Loud and clear.”  
  
“I called to tip on a suspicious activity,” the man says, getting straight to the point.  
  
Jordan furrows his eyebrows, because usually they never get such calls. “Can I get your name, sir? And what is it you’d like to inform us about?”  
  
“Christopher Reed. And just about ten minutes ago, I dropped off a girl on 438 East 114th street in East Harlem, and she seemed pretty shaken up.”  
  
Hearing the address makes Jordan’s eyes widen. “438 East 114th Street? That’s the address for Kayleen Betcher’s house.”  
  
“Yeah, I know that,” Christopher says, “and the girl I dropped off walked straight _into the house._ I knew it was a crime scene area because I saw it in the news, and that’s why I called.”  
  
It doesn’t make sense to Jordan. _How can someone just walk inside? The front and back doors are locked._ He’s sure about it too, because he locked them himself after doing another search through the place with Detective Hale. “Can you describe the girl, Mr. Reed?”  
  
“Yeah, I don’t know what her height was, but she was wearing  heels and she had these big green eyes,” he described. “And red hair, like _really red._ Like you-can’t-miss-it kind of red.”  
  
Jordan writes down the description but as soon as he hears the girl’s hair color, he freezes. “...How old did she look?”  
  
“Around eighteen. Maybe nineteen. She was quite a pretty thing too, surprised me when she told me to stop since she initially told me to take her to the Upper East Side. Also gave me a twenty dollar bill and didn’t ask for change.”  
  
 _Lydia._ The name crosses his mind as soon as he hears Reed’s description, and even though he’s ninety-nine percent sure that it’s her, he still hopes that he’s wrong. Jordan grabs for his jacket as he quickly speaks into the phone, “Thank you for the information, sir, I’ll personally check on it.”  
  
“No problem, officer. Just trying to be a good law-abiding citizen.”  
  
And Jordan thinks, _if only I can hear that from a certain strawberry blonde._ But knowing Lydia in the very short amount of time they’ve worked together, he knows he’s holding his hopes too high on that ever happening. Jordan ends the call after that, slipping on his jacket and heading out the door, deciding that it’s better not to say anything about the call to the other deputies or the Sheriff, for Lydia’s best interest. He’s more preoccupied in his thoughts then he thinks, because just as he turns the corner out of the squad room, he runs straight into someone, dropping a bunch of the files they were holding to the ground, and Jordan sees that someone is no other than Derek.  
  
Derek stares at him blankly, arms crossed and making an x-shape as usual, and normally Jordan isn’t able to read the detective’s expressions, but the one he’s wearing right now clearly reads, _don’t expect me to pick that up._ “Sorry,” Jordan immediately apologizes, crouching down as he piles all the papers together. He doesn’t really look at what the scattered papers are about, mostly because it’s really none of his business, but also because he wants to be out of the station as quick as possible, since his mind is still wrapped up around the question on why Lydia Martin would go back to a crime scene. But then his eyes catch something that he normally wouldn’t have caught, because it’s just an autopsy report, but then he sees the _name,_ and it’s suddenly of interest to him. He picks it up and then looks up at Derek. “Victoria Argent? She was Kate Argent’s sister-in-law right? The one declared missing?”  
  
“Kate Argent isn’t missing,” Derek growls more than states, snatching the report clear out of Jordan’s hands along with the rest of the papers. “She’s dead.”  
  
“ _Death in absentia_ , you mean.” Jordan stands up, a brow curiously raised, because as far as he knows, Derek was only stationed here a week ago, so it doesn’t make sense as to why he has access to files for Victoria Argent’s case.  
  
“Seems like you’ve forgotten Parrish, but death in absentia is still declaring someone legally dead, which makes Kate, in fact, dead,” Derek emphasizes, clearly irritated, as he moves past the deputy to get by.  
  
“But why do you have those case files anyways?” Jordan knows he must have hit a nerve asking that, because when Derek turns to look at the deputy again, there’s a very particular harshness in his look that makes Jordan shut up immediately.  
  
“Listen, Jordan,” Derek starts, and he says his first name with a cutting edge, “I really need to talk to the Sheriff right now, so I think it’s better if you stop asking questions and let me do my job, while you do yours. Got that?”  
  
Although they’re both the same height, Jordan can’t help but feel a bit intimidated, but he tries his best to keep a straight face while nodding. “Right, sorry.” He watches as Derek turns away after that, disappearing into the Sheriff’s office, but that still doesn’t take the thought of what he was doing with Victoria Argent’s autopsy file away from Jordan's mind as he walks out of the station.  
  
The night is chilly, but it doesn’t seem to affect him as he gets into his cruiser and starts driving down the mostly empty Manhattan streets, going way over the speed limit than he’s usually used to during situations like this—although this situation isn’t exactly like any other. Part of him debates whether or not to pull over and actually call Lydia, but then he realizes a little too fast that he doesn’t even have her number to do that, and even if he did, he doesn’t expect her to tell him the truth if she really was at the crime scene. They’ve only been working together for a little while, but in that short time Jordan’s realized that Lydia smart, sassy, confident, and _beautiful_ , although he didn’t need to know her to figure out the last one, yet, beyond all those things, he’s also realized that she’s quite an enigma. There are times where he thinks he can read her, where he can actually see that she’s had a past, one that involves being broken far too many times, and it’s something that most eighteen year old girls shouldn’t experience.  
  
But Jordan also notices that the same way she’s broken, she’s also strong, and she doesn’t give anyone the chance to think otherwise.  
  
When he pulls on to the street, he parks a little ways off from Kayleen’s house, just so that if someone were to look out the window, they won’t notice the police cruiser so easily. Jordan steps out of the car and makes his way up the front steps of the house, his eyes cautiously darting around the street, where not a single soul seemed to be present, giving off a eerily quiet atmosphere. Looking up at the dark and now vandalized house, Jordan doesn’t see any flicker of light from a flashlight illuminating through the windows, something he expected to see from whoever it was inside the house, if there was even anyone still there, that is.  
  
Turning the door knob, Jordan’s surprised when he finds out that Reed was right. The door _is_ open. And as he steps inside, pulling out his gun and flashlight, shining the light through the front hall, seeing absolutely nothing but darkness and hearing only silence. Pointing the light in a few more places and getting the same result, Jordan’s about to lower his gun when he suddenly hears a raspy noise that almost sounds like someone’s descending the stairs.  
  
And that’s because someone _is.  
  
_ “New York City Police Department, this is a crime scene, show yourself!” Jordan points his gun towards the staircase as a figure comes into view, but when he sees who it is, his once steely expression fades and softens as he lets out a sigh of relief and lowers his gun.  
  
Lydia, on the other hand, doesn’t look as relieved upon seeing him, and Jordan wonders whether she even _sees_ him. Her eyes are darting all over the place, as if she’s desperately searching for something, and maybe she is. “Lydia, what are you doing here?” It’s only when Jordan steps towards her that she glances towards him, but even then it doesn’t feel like she’s looking directly at him. She seems distracted and alarmed at the same time and it’s starting to worry him. “Lydia, _are you okay?_ ”  
  
She doesn’t answer his questions though, instead just says, “There’s something here.”  
  
He doesn’t know what she means by it, and she doesn’t care to elaborate further on it either, because Lydia starts stalking towards the direction of the kitchen without another word.  
  
Jordan can do nothing besides follow her closely, watch her as she slides her hand across the wall beside her as she walks, as if the house has voices and it’s speaking to her and only her, making him wonder  if she’s in one of those trances again like when he had found her in Kayleen’s room. He also wonders if it has anything to do with the psychic thing.

  
Does he really think she’s psychic? It’s definitely a possibility, and considering after everything that he’s seen from being stationed in Afghanistan for two years, Jordan really was being truthful when he told Lydia he had an open mind.  
  
He observes as Lydia walks into the dainty kitchen, which Jordan notices for the first time is quite fashion-forward if he say so himself. He probably didn’t notice it the first time since he was too busy trying to find a kidnapped girl who was actually murdered. Lydia circles around the place, touching the dusty porcelain dishes that have been sitting on the counter, untouched for weeks, before wandering over to a group of flowers nestled in pots near the dining table, slowly wilting from not being watered.  
  
“She liked interior designing,” Lydia finally says, as if she’s answering a question he never asked, while she plucks a petal from a dying rose. “And gardening, I assume.”  
  
“Whatever you’re looking for, I don’t think it’s here,” Jordan replies, thinking that she’s in a much better state to speak to now. “Detective Hale and I searched the place from top to bottom, I think you’re a little late.” Lydia then turns to him, looking at him fully now, and the look she gives him almost says, _don’t underestimate me_ , and Jordan knows better than to ever underestimate Lydia Martin. “I’m just saying—” He pauses, watches as she plucks the single flower out of the black vase that he noticed the first time he was here. He arches a brow, “What are you doing?”  
  
Lydia brings it near her nose, “it’s fake.”  
  
Although Jordan makes the odd connection that midst all the real flowers, there’s this counterfeit, he doesn’t understand it. And before he can even open his mouth and question it, Lydia’s throwing the fake flower to the floor and tipping the vase over, making a rolled up paper fall into her hand. At the new discovery, Lydia’s eyes meet his, and Jordan can see his own curious excitement mirror hers. He shuffles towards her as she unfolds it. “What does it say?”  
  
She scoffs, clearly disappointed. “Nothing readable, well _for now_ , that is.” Lydia hands him the paper and Jordan looks at it. She’s right, it’s nothing decipherable on the surface because it’s just a bunch of letters jumbled up, making no sense.  
  
“It’s a code,” he finally says, not looking up at her just yet, and finding it weird that someone would write a code on a piece of paper when usually such things were suited more so for computers. “Do you think you can decrypt it?” When he finally glances up at her, he sees that she’s moved away from him and is standing, profile view towards him, adjacent to the wall with Kayleen’s dried up bloody handprint. She stares at it and then slowly, almost absentmindedly, she brings her hand up and places it over the handprint.  
  
Jordan narrows his eyes. “Lydia…?”  
  
And then she screams.  
  
It happens so unexpectedly, so suddenly, that Jordan nearly jumps out of his own skin at the sound of the ear splitting scream. He staggers back, his hands reaching up to cover his eardrums for their own safety, because god, if he thought Lydia’s looks could kill, her _vocal chords_ were something on an entirely different level. The scream doesn’t last that long, but at the same time it feels like it lasts forever, and when it finally stops, Jordan has to wait a few moments so the annoying ringing can cease from echoing through his ears before he makes his way towards Lydia. He wants to ask her why she screamed, or more importantly, _how_ she screamed that loud, because he swears that she was heard by at least the whole street, but he doesn’t get a chance to ask any of that because as soon as he approaches her, he sees that she’s trembling, one of her hands pressed up against the wall for support.  
  
Jordan immediately goes to her aid, wrapping an arm around her carefully as he helps her stand up straight because she’s slipping away, as if the scream had taken away all her energy. As soon as he touches her, a shiver runs down his spine because she’s _freezing_ and without another thought, he immediately shrugs out of his officer jacket, draping it over her shoulders. He watches as she hesitates for a moment, which she has every right to do, before finally huddling into the warmth of the jacket. She’s still shaking though, and Jordan knows it’s not because she’s cold, so slowly and gently, as if not to terrify her even more, he grabs her by the wrists, making her look up at him.  
  
“Lydia,” he says softly, and then almost begging, “ _please_ take deep breaths, or I’m scared you’ll go into hysteria.” His thumbs rub soothing circles into her skin and even in the state she’s in, she manages to scoff at him and his suggestion, which is more concern than anything.  
  
“Hysteria is _such_ a sexist term,” she says, and the small upward curve of her lips makes it impossible for Jordan not to smile too.  “It used to be once common medical diagnosis _exclusively_ for women, as if _females_ tend to be more prone to hysterics than _males_.”  
  
“Sorry, I take that back then,” he apologizes, which makes her roll her eyes and makes another smile cross his face, “But I’d really appreciate if you take some deep breaths so you can _calm down._ ”  
  
Lydia nods slowly and closes her eyes, taking in a few deep breaths as instructed, and almost instantly, Jordan feels all the tenseness that was present in her body alleviate. When he’s sure that she’s better, he lets go of her hands and  then sighs, because he knows he has to ask the question now. He can’t just let it go as if nothing happened. “...Why did you scream?” And then almost instantaneously, he asks another question, one that he thinks is a more suited question to ask than the first one, and whether he thinks she’s psychic or not it doesn’t because all he knows is that something’s not right at the moment. “ _What did you see?”  
  
_ His two questions make all easiness that seemed to be present in Lydia just a few moments ago fade away, as she looks up at him now with dark eyes. “Will you believe me?” She asks, her question posing in such a way that it’s like she’s testing him.  
  
And maybe she is.  
  
“Yes,” he answers without hesitation. He watches as her gaze stays lingering on him, but there’s a slight nostalgic look to her expression, as if his answer made her remember something. But whether it’s a memory or something else, he doesn’t find out because the next thing she says makes his breath hitch.  
  
“Someone’s going to die. And I know who it is.”

 

  
**

  
  
They’re exactly ten minutes away from Central Park, but with the way Jordan speeds down the street before turning, they get there in only five. But as soon as they get there, he realizes that they’re not alone. Surrounding most of the east side of the park like a barricade are police cars everywhere, making Lydia and him exchange looks because she knows as well as he does that he didn’t call for backup, meaning that someone else had notified the police.  
  
Getting out of his car quickly, with Lydia, who’s still wearing his jacket, following in just as much of a hurry beside him. Jordan catches sight of the Sheriff in the midst of all the bustling of officers and flashlights shining through the darkness of the park, talking to a deputy that Jordan vaguely recognizes next to one of the cruisers. “Sheriff? What’s going on here?” Jordan asks as soon as he reaches the older man, Lydia stopping beside him.  
  
Stilinski looks at the two of them, narrowing his eyes in a sort of surprise, which Jordan figures is probably because he’s wondering why Lydia’s here, or more importantly, why Lydia’s here with _him_. So, Jordan immediately improvises, “We were just passing by and saw all the cruisers, thought we’d check it out.”  
  
Seeming to believe his lie, although a bit so doubtfully, Stilinski nods. “A woman called the emergency dispatcher about fifteen minutes ago. The operator said that she sounded absolutely terrified, saying something about how someone was after her, but before she could list any details,,the line was cut. Emergency reported back to us, and now we’re here searching through the whole park, trying to find whoever she is.”  
  
Jordan nods in understanding, trying to keep a straight expression, even though he’s in shock on the inside, because when Lydia told him that someone was going to die, she said it would be a _woman_. She had even mentioned a name, Liz Moore, and even though Jordan badly wants to inform the Sheriff to check up on whether she’s missing or not, he knows he can’t suggest that because there’s no way he can explain it. He’d have to ask Danny to help him with that. But until then, “Is there anything we can do to help, sir?”  
  
“Yes, Parrish, I want you to get in with the search party, we can use all the people we can get,” The Sheriff says, pointing towards a group of officers with police dogs.  
  
“Got it, sir.” After the Sheriff walks away, Jordan turns back towards Lydia, who looks restless and ready to jump into the action, even when she’s wearing four inch heels. He stops her though, because if the situation has anything to do with Kayleen’s murder, meaning that the possibility of the killer being on the loose right this moment, there’s no way in hell that Jordan’s going to let Lydia get involved in that. “You know there’s no way I’m letting you come with me, right?”  
  
“But I can _help_ ,” Lydia insists, with a frown.  
  
He doesn’t doubt that she can’t help, but knowing what happened last time, he’s not going to have the same thing repeat again. His lips press into a tight line as he shifts his weight from one foot to another, one of his hands idly resting near his holster, before he finally sighs. “Alright, fine,” he says, offering his hand for her to take, which she does a little too triumphantly, but as soon as she slips her hand in his, Jordan extracts the handcuffs from his belt, quickly cuffing Lydia’s wrist and then locking the other cuff to the car door of the cruiser they’re standing next to. It all happens so fast that Jordan’s _surprised_ he even managed to do it.  
  
“What the hell!?” Lydia looks at him furiously, pulling at the handcuffs but to no success, her wide eyes boring holes into his skull. “ _You handcuffed me?!_ Oh no, there’s no way you’re getting away with this, Jordan. Let me go!”  
  
Jordan cringes at her words. “I know you’re mad, I’m sorry, and you can go ahead and hit me or kick me or whatever after this is all done, but this is the only way so I know that you won’t get yourself into trouble,” he tells her as placating as possible, but even then she’s staring him down like daggers, ready to bite, and Jordan thinks that there’s nothing he can do that will possibly calm her. So with one more apology, he turns away, hurrying towards the search party group, still hearing Lydia shouting after him.  
  
 _Jordan!  
  
_ When he gets out of earshot from her, he calls up Danny who picks up on the third ring.  
  
“What’s up?”  
  
“Can you do me a favor?”  
  
“Yeah, sure, what do you need?”  
  
An officer passes by him, and Jordan turns away, his voice dropping to a whisper, “Can you check if a woman by the name of Liz Moore is missing?”  
  
“Missing persons check? Got it. Want me to report back to the Sheriff?” Danny typing on his keyboard echoes in the background.  
  
“No, _no_ ,” Jordan says quickly, a little _too_ quickly. “Just text me and let me know what you find.” There’s a moments silence over the line and he can just imagine Danny raising an eyebrow at his behavior.  
  
But luckily, he doesn’t ask any questions. “Alright then. I’ll get back to you.”  
  
“Thanks.” Jordan hangs up after that and then joins the search party group, where everyone’s paired off into twos so that they can search the grounds more efficiently. He’s paired off with Deputy Haigh, who Jordan particularly dislikes strongly, mostly because the guy’s a dumbass who makes too many snarky comments, but Jordan’s learned to bare with him, since there’s not much you can do with people who are naturally annoying.  
  
“Ugh, I don’t get what the big deal is,” Haigh groans behind him, holding the flashlight while Jordan has his gun cocked ahead, “it could have been a prank call.”  
  
Jordan just rolls his eyes, choosing not to reply as he walks further through the deserted park.  
  
“God, it’s _so_ fucking cold too.”  
  
“Welcome to New York City,” Jordan replies with a small chuckle, which is cut short when the sound of dry leaves crunching beneath feet that aren’t his or Haigh’s echoes around them.  
  
Haigh freezes and turns, looking around, his hand on his gun. “What was that?”  
  
“I don’t know.” Jordan’s eyes scan past the trees, and at first nothing is visible. But then he sees it, or he thinks he does, a blur of a woman running in the distance away from them, with dark brown hair, and he _swears_ that she’s barefoot. “Wait, shine your light over there!”  
  
Haigh does as told, but by the time he flashes the light where Jordan points, the woman, if there even was one, is gone. “I swear I saw someone…,” he murmurs under his breath.  
  
“Maybe it was nothing,” Haigh says, more so saying it as if he’s trying to reassure himself.  
  
Jordan lowers his gun slowly. “It didn’t look like nothing.”  
  
“Come on, we have to keep moving,” Haigh commands as he walks past him, continuing down the path. Jordan doesn’t move however, still staring at the spot in between the trees where he _swears_ he saw someone.  
  
“Damn it, Parrish, get your ass over here! The faster we do this, the faster _I_ can go home _._ Gah, I don’t get paid enough for this.”  
  
Haigh’s constant complaining does get him to start walking again, even if reluctantly, and as they keep going, Jordan finds himself looking over his shoulder more and more frequently.  
  
The rest of their search is uneventful as they don’t end up finding footprints or evidence that would display a struggle happened of some sort. But thankfully, they don’t stumble across a dead body either, although Jordan’s still doubtful about the idea of the night ending without another death. He would like it to be that way, but with the way the events are spanning, and not to mention what Lydia told him, nothing is certain.  By the time the two of them reach The Reservoir, Haigh insists that they head back, and Jordan’s just about to agree with him when his phone rings. He thinks it’s probably Danny, but when he checks it’s actually the Sheriff. Puzzled, because usually Stilinski contacts him through the radio transmitter, he picks up. “Sheriff?”  
  
He’s quick to get to the point. “ _Did you handcuff Lydia to a car?_ ”  
  
Jordan cringes, because of course the Sheriff would find out about that. “I can explain,” he quickly says, but only to be cut off by Stilinski again.  
  
“No need to,” he says, and there’s a tinge of paranoia and worry in his tone. “The only thing I want to know is how the hell did she get out of them?”  
  
His eyes widen. “Wait, _what?_ ”  
  
“Yeah, apparently, she got out of them, _somehow_ , because none of the other deputies released her,” Stilinski informs him, and then sighs loudly, “you know she’s your responsibility, Parrish?”  
  
“I’m aware, sir. But I definitely wasn’t aware that she’d be capable of getting out of handcuffs.” He really did underestimate her abilities. He figures he should have known though, should have known that a pair of handcuffs wasn’t going to stop the _amazing_ Lydia Martin who manages to mess with his head far too much.  
  
“I don’t think anyone was aware she’d be able to do that,” Stilinski replies. “But find her, and quick. I don’t want her running around with a possible killer on the loose.” And then there’s a shift in his tone, “she’s like my daughter, Parrish.”  
  
Jordan can tell just by the tone of the Sheriff’s voice how much he cares for the strawberry blonde, which makes him even more disappointed in himself since it’s technically his fault that she’s gone. “I’ll find her, sir,” he reassures him, “don’t worry.”  
  
The Sheriff sighs once more, “Alright.”  
  
The call disconnects after that and Jordan takes a deep breath as he turns back to Haigh, who looks like he’s waiting impatiently for him. “You go on back, I’m going to look around a bit more.”  
  
Haigh doesn’t question his decision, just shrugs, gives him a _if you say so_ look, and starts walking away. Jordan waits until Haigh disappears within the trees before going the opposite way. He knows that Lydia’s probably somewhere in the park, but there’s eight-hundred and forty three acres to span, meaning that she could be anywhere, and if that doesn’t quicken his pace, the Sheriff’s words of there being a killer on the loose, definitely makes him start _running_. The cold wind bites at his skin, but strangely it doesn’t bother him, as he circles around The Reservoir once before heading towards the Great Lawn. The only sounds permeating through the night coming from the crickets and Jordan’s own heavy footsteps against the pavement, which he swears sound _louder_ than usual, making him stop a few times and turn around, because the paranoia starts to creep in that _someone’s_ following him. But Jordan doesn’t see anyone and after a thorough check of his surroundings, he decides it’s just his mind messing with him, which is completely reasonable since he’s high on panic mode after all, because it’s been about half an hour and he still hasn’t caught sight of bright strawberry blonde hair.  
  
When he steps on to the wet grass of the Great Lawn, a small sort of relief goes over him because he doesn’t have to hear his boots hit against the pavement anymore. As he walks further, he hears absolutely nothing this time except for his own breathing, and he realizes that he’s breathing heavier and heavier with each step he takes forward, but he doesn’t quite know why. Is it because of the realization that he might not find her and will have to wake up in the morning, turn on the T.V, and see her on the news to know she’s gone for good? Or is the realization that he might _find_ her, but it won’t actually be her, because he’ll end up stumbling across her lifeless body because he was _too late_. _No, no,_ he thinks, trying to reassure himself, _this is not the time to be thinking extremes._  
  
“You’ll find her,” he tells himself in the silence of the night, and repeats it over, using it like a mantra that will calm him down, “ _you’ll find her._ ”  
  
Then, almost immediately after that, he does.  
  
 _Jordan!_  
  
He whips around quickly towards the direction of where the voice came from, gun raised just in case. And almost as soon as he heard her, he sees her as well, because he can spot that bright hair from even a mile away, as she gets closer and closer, and it takes a few moments for Jordan to realize that she’s running not in relief of seeing him, no, she’s running in _fear._ He sees her panic stricken face when she gets close enough and he has to grab her by the arms to steady her so that she doesn’t end up falling into him. Lydia’s breathing heavily and while she tries to catch her breath, Jordan notices the open cut on her forehead and as his gaze wanders down, he sees that her knees are bloody and all cut up. “Lydia, what happened to you?” He’s definitely worried now and he’s sure it’s evident on his face, and as she looks up at him, a similar look crosses her face as well, except instead of worry, it’s dead on fear.  
  
Lydia doesn’t answer his question though, instead she surprises him by slipping her hand into his and starts tugging him towards the trees again in the direction of Summit Rock. “Hurry, we have to go before she gets here,” She pleads to him, and before Jordan can even ask who Lydia means by _she_ , she’s tugging on him again, giving Jordan no other choice but to follow her, and he thinks that maybe it’s not the best time to be asking questions, since telling by Lydia’s expression, whoever _she_ is, they probably don’t want to be standing here when she arrives.  
  
They run through the thicket of trees, never looking back once to see if whoever it is was still following them, and Jordan tries to strain his ears to hear if someone is behind him, but he can’t hear anything past the blood rushing through his ears. It’s only when they reach Summit Rock and he pulls on Lydia’s hand, bringing her to a stop, does the throbbing of his pulse echoing through his eardrums come to a slow. Next to him, Lydia looks like she’s about to collapse, her breathing shallow and harsh, and Jordan instinctively puts a gentle hand on her back. “Hey, hey. Are you okay?” His hand rubs up and down her back soothingly, and when she doesn’t say anything, he asks his next question, because he really needs to know. “Who were you running from?”  
  
“She was running from me.”  
  
The sudden sound of the new voice makes Lydia jump, as Jordan turns, putting himself in front of the strawberry blonde protectively as he faces the offender. He points his gun towards the woman, “Don’t come any closer. Stand your ground!”  
  
“Or what? You’ll _shoot_ me?”  
  
The woman laughs, stepping forward anyways, emerging from the blanket of darkness. And the first thing Jordan notices about the woman is her feet. She’s barefoot, but what’s even stranger is how her toenails almost resemble _claws_. And that definitely makes a shudder run through Jordan’s body, but he keeps his stance, finger still on the trigger of the gun, ready to pull it if he has to. “What do you want?” He asks her, voice steely as can be.  
  
The woman smirks, exhales loudly from her nostrils as her field of vision passes Jordan and stops on Lydia, who’s standing closely behind him, trembling hand gripping on his shirt. “Give me the girl and things won’t have to get ugly,” the woman says, throwing her dark hair over her shoulder, and that’s when Jordan catches sight of her fingernails, which don’t even have the _right_ to be called fingernails, because just like her feet, they resembled similar.  
  
Jordan clenches his jaw, “Over my dead body.” He swears he hears Lydia whisper his name after he says that, in a sort of warning almost, but he’s not sure because the woman starts laughing again, her cackling echoing through the evening darkness.  
  
“Well then,” she starts, a sickening delightfulness in her tone, “I guess I’ll just have to kill you _both_ then.” She makes a noise that sounds like an animalistic growl and charges towards them, making a surprised whimper erupt from Lydia, and Jordan’s just about to press the trigger, but in the millisecond that he hesitates, someone screams and this time it’s not Lydia.  
  
The woman is the one screaming, in pain, her hands curling into tight fists that her nails end up piercing into the skin of her palm, drawing blood. At first, Jordan doesn’t know why she’s in pain, but it doesn’t take long for him to see the arrow that’s punctured into her shoulder. His grip on his gun relaxes a little and he feels Lydia’s hold on him loosen as well, but before Jordan can even question what just happened, another figure emerges from the trees. And instead of tensing up, Jordan feels himself come to ease even more when he realizes who it is.  
  
He’s never seen her before, but he doesn’t have to, to know that it’s her. Dressed in all black, she almost blends in with the darkness, but the light of the moon illuminates on her, making her look like a warrior, with the way her bow is drawn, arrow pointed directly at the woman who’s holding the other arrow, now bloody, in her hands. And as the masked heroine makes her way up the stone steps of Summit Rock, she places herself directly in front of Jordan and Lydia like a wall. “You should really listen to the officer, Kali, if you know what’s best for you,” she declares assertively. “Stand down, or the next arrow I shoot you with will be laced with Indian Aconite.”  
  
 _Wolfsbane_ , Jordan suddenly thinks, finding it strange that he called it that, let alone thought of it.  
  
“Oh, _Artemis_ , I was waiting to see when you would arrive,” the woman known as Kali speaks, as she breaks the arrow that had punctured her into two and tosses it to the ground. “I gotta say though, you’re becoming much more slow, don’t you think? What, is the burden of protecting the whole city finally getting to you now? In that case, you should have just let _us_ have our way months ago.” Kali’s voice is teasing, but the masked heroine doesn’t waver.  
  
“We protect those who cannot protect themselves,” Artemis replies, “ _Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger leurs-même._ ”  
  
This makes Kali laugh again, a laugh that almost resembles a loud howl to him. “And that’s why you killed Ennis right? And now you’re going to kill me? Face it, Artemis, you’re just like the rest of us,” Kali says, anger suddenly surging through her voice.  
  
Jordan has no idea what’s going on, but he can feel the tension between the two about to detonate, which makes him step back a little bit, his hand still outstretched and guarding Lydia as she follows suit and steps back as well.  
  
“You’re wrong, Kali. I’m not like the rest of you,” Artemis says, lowering her bow much to Jordan’s shock, and even though he can’t see her, he catches the smugness in her voice. “ _I’m better._ ”  
  
The electroshock weapon Artemis whips out of her arsenal and stuns Kali with happens so fast that Jordan barely flinches as he watches Kali fall to her knees from the shock. Artemis then quickly turns so that she’s looking Jordan right in the eye, “Run, now.” Her gaze travels over to Lydia, giving her a small nod, a gesture that would almost suggest that they knew each other, before looking back at Jordan again. “Take her to safety.”  
  
“And you?” Jordan finds himself asking her.  
  
She grins. “I appreciate your concern officer, but I can handle myself,” she tells him, a certain glint appearing in her eyes. She then places a hand on his chest and pushes him along with Lydia. “Now, _go._ ”  
  
Jordan doesn’t need to be told twice as he slips his hand in Lydia’s this time, pulling her along as they disappear into the trees.  
  
He doesn’t look back.  
  
They make it about halfway down the trail back to where the police are when Lydia trips and nearly falls into him, but Jordan catches her before she can. She lets out a low whimper, and it’s only then that Jordan realizes that one of her heels are broken and that she’s limping. “Lydia, how long have you been running with a broken heel?” He asks her, shocked.  
  
She looks at him and gnaws on her lower lip, a gesture that tells him she’s been running in them for _way too long_. Jordan crouches down then so that he’s at the level of her feet and makes a motion for her to take off her shoes. Lydia hesitates for a moment, but knowing that Jordan won’t get up until she does, she slowly slips out of each heel, revealing how badly swollen and blistered her feet are.  
  
“Jesus Christ, Lydia, why didn’t you tell me?” He asks her, still examining her feet.  
  
She narrows her eyes at him, “Well, first of all, we were kind of busy running away from getting killed and second of all, it’s not that bad.”  
  
Jordan scoffs, “Not that bad? You’re joking right? Your feet look horrible, you’re definitely not walking like this.” When he stands up again, Lydia crosses her arms and roll her eyes.  
  
“What are you gonna do? Carry me?”  
  
She says it in a joking matter, but Jordan’s serious. “Actually, that’s exactly what I was thinking.”  
  
Lydia’s eyes widen. “No. Way. I’m not some helpless girl, Jordan, if that’s what you were thinking,” she hisses.  
  
“I don’t think you’re helpless because you’re a girl, Lydia, I just think that at this moment, walking half a mile a broken heel, or even _worse_ , barefoot, is a terrible idea,” Jordan tells her, genuinely worried, and hoping she heeds to his advice.  
  
She makes a clearly annoyed face, but then she sighs and bends down to grab her heels, and for a minute he thinks she’s going to put them on again, but she doesn’t. “Fine,” she says instead, agreeing to his idea and allowing him to finally let out a small sigh of relief, because he didn’t expect her to accept that easily.  
  
Jordan scoops her up effortlessly in his arms and he notices the slightly impressed expression that crosses Lydia's face momentarily as he starts walking. She wraps one arm around his neck and lets the other one dangle freely while still holding her heels, and as they walk, Jordan can’t help but feel like she’s tense in his arms, so he tries to change that with conversation. “How did you end up running from a— “ he’s about to say killer, but stops himself before he does, “—from that woman, I mean. Who was she anyways? Why was she after you? Why—”  
  
“That’s a lot of questions, deputy,” Lydia interrupts him, giving him a teasing smile which makes him blush. He can’t help himself though, so much had happened in such little time, he’s still trying to register it. Lydia, however, continues. “But _basically_ , I ran into her...After I found the body.”  
  
As soon as he hears _body,_ Jordan freezes. “You found a body? And you’re telling me this now?”  
  
“Well, sorry not sorry, I was kind of busy running away from a psychopath,” Lydia says, offended.  
  
“Where is it?”  
  
“The body?”  
  
“No, the sixth borough, _yes the body,_ Lydia,” Jordan says, earning a frown from her.  
  
“Your sarcasm isn’t appreciated,” she says rather curtly, “in fact, you should be _thanking_ me for finding the body. Otherwise, you and all your other NYPD deputies would have been searching the whole night and still wouldn’t have found anything.”  
  
Jordan doesn’t doubt her words though, he actually thinks they’re quite true, because when you have officers like Deputy Haigh, there’s definitely going to be some problems. “You’re right,” he finally says, sincerely, getting her eyes to widen in response. “We probably wouldn’t have found this body or Kayleen’s without you. So, thanks.” When he glances down to look at her in his arms, Lydia’s looking up at him surprised. He furrows his eyebrows. “What?”  
  
She shakes her head, a very light blush creeping up her cheeks. “Nothing...The body’s near the Great Hill.” When she says it, he immediately takes out his radio transmitter, shifting Lydia slightly so that he’s holding her with only one arm, before briefing the location of the body in.  
  
Lydia clings to his shirt, “You better not drop me.”  
  
He smirks at her threat, part of him wanting to tell her that he wouldn’t think of dropping her for the world, since after all, he does value his life, but he decides against saying it since he doesn’t want to get another dirty look from her. After contacting Sheriff Stilinski and giving him the coordinates that Lydia told him, he readjusts his grip around the strawberry blonde and starts walking again. The rest of the walk back is mostly in silence, which Jordan is completely okay with, because Lydia seems to have become less tense and more comfortable as she rests her head against his shoulder, relaxing into his touch.  
  
When they get back to where all the police cruisers are, Lydia’s immediately taken out of his arms from a nurse, since the ambulance seems to have arrived already to deal with the dead body. He lets go of her, almost reluctantly, but he knows that it’s better for her to get her feet checked out before their condition worsens, so he watches as the nurse helps Lydia into a wheelchair so she doesn’t have to walk before being pushed away. Lydia gives him one last glance over her shoulder and Jordan flashes her a reassuring smile, which she returns with her own before turning back around again.  
  
And then she’s gone.  
  
Jordan lets out a sigh, because it’s finally all over, and he turns to go find the Sheriff but then his phone vibrates in his pocket, making him stop and check it. It’s a text message from Danny.  
  
 **[9:50 P.M]** **DANNY MAHEALANI:** _Checked up on Liz Moore, no missing persons report filed but she’s not in her home and neighbor said that he last saw her heading towards central park. Sending a picture right now._  
  
His phone vibrates again and he opens the attached file, a picture of a blonde haired and blue eyed girl appearing on the screen. She looks about the same age as Kayleen and Jordan wonders if the killer is going after girls in their early twenties. It makes him shudder because Lydia’s close to that age group. He texts a quick thanks back to Danny and then decides that the best thing to do to see whether this girl matches up with the body is to hand the picture over to the Sheriff, and Jordan hopes that the body isn’t too mutilated that it would require face reconstruction. He would have to ask Lydia about that, since she most likely saw the body up close, and thinking that he’ll go meet up with her first before talking to the Sheriff,, he turns to walk away, but only to be see the older man already walking towards his direction.  
  
“Parrish! One of the deputies informed me that you found Lydia. Is she doing okay?”  
  
Jordan nods, “Her feet are pretty messed up, but other than that she’s doing okay. A nurse took her to get cleaned up.”  
  
Stilinski lets out a sigh in relief. “That’s good to hear....Where did you find her anyways? And the body?”  
  
“Uh…” Jordan swallows hard because he’s horrible at lying and he doesn’t know how much longer he’ll have to keep himself from disclosing the fact to the Sheriff that Lydia’s _psychic._ Or well, he thinks she is, at least. “She was close to where the location of the body was.” He finds himself nodding a few times to his own words, as if doing that would make it more believable, when really it just makes him look like an idiot.  
  
The Sheriff gives him a strange look and Jordan's sure he's going to question it, but luckily, he doesn’t. Jordan decides to change the subject quickly after that, just incase the Sheriff changes his mind and does decide to ask more questions. Jordan tells him about the photo Danny sent him instead, explaining how the dead body found could possibly be of Liz Moore’s. The Sheriff takes his words with careful consideration, telling him that he’ll ask Danny to send him more info and that in the meantime Jordan should go check on Lydia. The deputy nods and the two part ways, Jordan walking towards the ambulance a little faster than normal, where he finds Lydia sitting in the back of the open vehicle. His eyes immediately drop to her feet, which he sees have been cleaned and bandaged up. Her knees, however, are still cut up and bloody.  
  
Jordan’s eyes narrow. “Where’s the nurse?”  
  
Startled from his voice, Lydia looks up from cleaning her right knee, slightly surprised to see him there. But she smiles. “She had to go help with the post-mortem. I told her I’d be fine cleaning up myself.”  
  
“Here, let me help,” he says, taking the first aid kit from her, and although Lydia tells him that she can do it herself, Jordan insists, and soon enough he’s dabbing a cotton ball dipped in rubbing alcohol on Lydia’s wound while she tries her best not to fidget.  
  
It’s not working.  
  
“You’re squirming,” Jordan says, glancing up at her.  
  
“ _It stings_ ,” she scowls.  
  
He smiles. For some reason, it amuses him. “Says the girl who ran two miles in a broken heel.” He gets a playful punch on the shoulder from her for saying that, and he has to stifle a chuckle.  
  
“I was in an adrenaline rush then, so the pain was somewhat bearable,” Lydia huffs, only for it to be quickly replaced by another painful hiss. “Are you done?”  
  
“Almost.” Jordan stops suddenly, and then slowly leans in so that he's lightly blowing on her skin, his lips barely brushing against her knee and his cool breath making her freeze above him. He glances up and sees her staring down at him with wide eyes. “Is that better?”  
  
Lydia gives him a silent nod, and Jordan goes back to tending to the scrape. After he’s done bandaging it, he gets up from his crouched position and starts putting the contents back in the first aid box, all the while feeling Lydia’s eyes on him.  
  
“You’re not going to say anything?” She asks, suddenly.  
  
He looks at her, not getting what she’s talking about. “Say what?”  
  
She rolls her eyes, amused. “You’re not going to tell me that what I did was stupid and dangerous and that I’m most definitely _out of my mind?_ ”  
  
“I don’t think you’re crazy, if that's what you're trying to imply,” Jordan says, taking a seat next to her. And then flashing a sheepish smile in her direction, he says, “I think you’re psychic though.”  
  
“God, not the psychic thing again,” Lydia groans, throwing her head back. “I’m not psychic. Smart, yes. Intuitive? _Maybe._ But psychic? Jordan, I think you're reading too much fantasy fiction.”  
  
Jordan doesn't really read anything besides the newspaper, but he doesn't tell her that. Instead he says, “That’s what they used to call psychics back then. _Intuitionists_.” After learning the possibility that Lydia might be psychic, he had actually gone back home that day and did a lot of research of his own, scrolling through countless pages and pages of information about psychics and their abilities.  
  
Lydia just narrows his eyes at him, but he sees the curve of a smile twitching at her lips. And he swears, right then and there, that she knows something that he doesn’t. “I’m. Not. Psychic,” she repeats again.  
  
“Then maybe you have a special ability,” Jordan suggests, trying to push his previous thought of suspicion out of his mind, “like Artemis.” He doesn’t know why he makes that comparison, but his mind is still trying to register the fact that he _talked_ to the masked huntress, saw her when it’s almost absolutely impossible to catch a glimpse of her, and he knows that Malia is definitely going to be jealous when she finds out tomorrow.  
  
Lydia laughs at his suggestion. “Like Artemis? I don’t think you’ve noticed Jordan, but I don’t have superhuman strength. And I’m only five foot three.”  
  
He shrugs. “Maybe you could be like Athena then.” He says it mostly offhandedly, but the reaction he gets from her isn’t one he expects. She doesn’t laugh, just stares at him in a sort of bewildered way. He’s about to ask what’s wrong, but the Sheriff’s son comes into view a few feet away from them, yelling Lydia's name. Jordan watches as the strawberry blonde’s head turns towards where Stiles is standing, making hand gestures that’s telling her to hurry up so that they can leave.  
  
Lydia stands up then, turning back towards him. “I should go now. So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”  
  
“You’re not coming tomorrow with those feet in that condition,” Jordan says to her, standing up as well. He smiles. “Take the day off.”  
  
She frowns. “I don’t need a day off. I’m perfectly fine.”  
  
He expected that response. “Trust me, if you don’t take a day off, the Sheriff’s going to definitely fire me.” He chuckles then and her frown turns into a smile.  
  
“Fine,” she huffs again, but this time it’s less curt and more pleasant, almost playful. Lydia turns on her heel then, ready to make what he assumes a very careful and slow walk towards Stiles, but before she can actually move away, Jordan grabs her by the arm, stopping her and making her turn around again.  
  
“Wait, sorry, but uh, can I see your phone?” It’s a strange question, he knows it, but he has a reason for it.  
  
Lydia raises an eyebrow at him questioningly. But instead of asking why, she hands him her phone. Jordan thinks that it’s probably because he’s an officer, and even if unintentionally, people tend to follow an officer’s orders without question. He takes her phone and then after a few moments of his thumbs tapping at the screen, he hands it back to her, with his contact information showing. “If you ever have another suspicion or a _feeling_ , let me know,” he tells her, getting another wide-eyed look from her. “You...don’t have to go into anything alone. I could be there for you.”  
  
He can probably argue that he’s taking a step out of his claimed professional relationship with her, but he figures that if she really can find dead bodies, he would want to be there with her when she stumbles into a supposed crime scene, rather than have her go in alone. Especially since the chance of the killer still being there when she goes in could be highly likely, and even though Lydia looks like she can throw a pretty good punch, Jordan doesn’t want to take any chances.  
  
She smirks at him as she puts her phone back in her pocket. “Anything else, _deputy?_ ” The way she emphasizes his title definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by him.  
  
“Actually, yeah,” Jordan says, running a hand through his hair sheepishly, because it’s a question he’s been wondering for a while ever since he found her at the Great Lawn. “ _How did you get out of the handcuffs?_ ”  
  
His question makes a coy smile play on Lydia’s lips as she tilts her head to the side, gently placing a hand on his shoulder, her touch making him shudder more than it should. And then she whispers, “That’s for _me_ to know, and for _you_ to never find out.”  
  
Jordan doesn’t have any answer to that besides the fact that it leaves him speechless, which she definitely revels in because she throws him one more smirk before turning away from him, walking off. And even though her feet probably hurt like hell, Lydia still manages to walk off with her head held high, hips swaying, and Jordan’s gaze never leaving from her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Food for thought: I always thought that the line where Jordan says to Lydia, "I'd like to say I don't believe in anything, but I keep an open mind" was really interesting because it's not an answer you expect? To me, it almost sounds like Jordan's encountered strange things like this before? So taking that idea, I wanted to expand more on it by trying to incorporate Jordan's past and his time spent in Afghanistan because I think it'd be incredibly interesting if Jordan's time in the army had anything to do with his super naturalness or just the supernatural in general. I've already made a few _very_ small hints here and there in this chapter and the past two that mention Jordan's past, but there will definitely be a lot more expanding on it in the upcoming chapters! :))
> 
>  
> 
> [come talk to me on tumblr](http://lostmemoria.tumblr.com)


	5. Human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of Allison/Lydia feels in this chapter! :) And yes, I'm aware it's a 10k chapter and I HAVE NO REGRETS (also lots of plot related things explained sorta?? or at least hinted at)
> 
> song: [(x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MbCeyb9okac)

**L Y D I A**

* * *

**  
**_Underneath the skin there’s a human  
Buried deep within there’s a human  
And despite everything I’m still human  
I think that I’m still human_

 

Lydia finally feels relief when Stiles stops in front of her house and she can get out of his jeep now, because on the whole drive back from Central Park, the boy would not shut up with his questions. Not that she can blame him, since after all she did tell him that the NYPD didn’t just allow eighteen year old girls to walk around crime scenes, and now here she is, caught in her own lie.  
  
She opens the car door, swinging her legs out, being careful not to put too much weight on her feet which are starting to hurt a lot, and even though she didn’t thank Jordan—because she’s stubborn as hell—she’s grateful that the deputy carried her instead of making her walk all the way back. But before she can even step out of the jeep, Stiles rushes over from the driver’s side to come to her aid, “Okay, this is either gonna go really well or really bad.”  
  
Lydia narrows her eyes, “What do you—” Her words are cut off though when she’s swept off her feet for the second time in one night, except this time she’s not so lenient about it. “Stiles, I don’t like to be manhandled.” Although she _definitely_ wasn’t complaining when a certain deputy carried her.  
  
“I’m not manhandling you,” Stiles says, kicking his jeep door shut as he starts walking up the front porch steps. “I’m just helping.”  
  
Lydia rolls her eyes, “Yeah, helping me by carrying me _two feet_ to the door. I could have done that myself.”  
  
“A thank you would be nice, you know?”  
  
Lydia scoffs, “The only time I’ll be saying thanks is when I find a man who lasts longer than two seconds in bed.”

Stiles grins, “Well, at least now I know Jackson is limp dick.”  
  
Lydia laughs as her hand shuffles through her bag for her keys because she doesn’t think anyone’s home yet, but to her surprise, the door opens and she’s greeted by blonde curly locks.  
  
“Well, looks like the lovebirds are home,” Erica says, wiggling her eyebrows as she smirks.  
  
Stiles nearly drops Lydia at the sight of the blonde, his eyes widening. “Oh my god, you’re Erica Reyes.”  
  
The statement makes a triumph look cross the blonde’s face, one that Lydia despises as she fumbles out of Stiles arms before he really does drop her. “The one and only.”  
  
“Oh my god, your dad owns ReyesCorp! I mean, _you_ own ReyesCorp too, but wow, I never thought I would meet you. You guys are working on decrypting the brain and using light to control it, right?!”  
  
“It’s called optogenetics,” Lydia sighs as she walks past the two and into the house, because all she really wants to do at the moment is warm up a bath, pour some bath salts in, and soak her aching feet.  
  
“That’s _not_ the only thing we’re working on,” Erica says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “We have some pretty top secret things going on.”  
  
Lydia’s breath hitches at Erica’s words, because _she knows_ as well as the blonde that those top secret things aren’t supposed to be mentioned.  
  
“Really? Well, um, do you think I could, I dunno, maybe interview you? Or take a picture!” Stiles is already fumbling in his pockets for his phone and Lydia has to refrain herself from rolling her eyes to the back of her head.  
  
Erica smiles, but it’s not pleasant. “You know what? I’ll have to get back to you with that.”  
  
“Back to me? Oh okay, when do you think—”  
  
Before Stiles can even finish, Erica closes the door in his face and Lydia would be lying if she said she wasn’t expecting that.  
  
“Uh, okay, I guess I’ll just come back later then!” Stiles yells from behind the door and Lydia has to stifle down a laugh.  
  
“Thanks for the ride, Stiles,” She calls after him, hearing him give a mustered reply back before he retreats from the house. After she hears his Jeep loudly drive out of the street, she turns to make her way upstairs but only to be stopped by Erica.  
  
She’s grinning, as usual, and Lydia really wants to wipe that grin off her face.  
  
“What?” She asks, looking at where the blonde leans against the stairwell, looking amused.  
  
“Are you two sleeping together?”  
  
Lydia almost snorts at the question, because even though Stiles might have had a crush on her during their freshman year at Columbia and she personally does think he’s kind of cute, Lydia can’t imagine herself sleeping with him. “No, and when did you have so much _interest_ in who I sleep with or not? And besides, what are you even doing here? Where’s Allison?”  
  
“Still taking care of that psychopath werewolf that tried to hurt you,” Erica replies flatly, “and honestly, Kali really needs a manicure. And a pedicure. I don’t know how she lives with herself.”  
  
“But how do you know about that? Did Ally tell you?” Lydia can’t help but feel a bit annoyed that Erica already knew about her confrontation with Kali, especially since she’s still trying to register what happened and why Kali wanted _her_ in the first place. Not to mention the fact that she’s still going to have to answer all of Allison’s questions when she comes back.  
  
And until then, Lydia still has time to think up of some lies.  
  
“Oh, Lydia, I know everything that goes on around here,” Erica hums, her fingers tapping against the wood, “and besides, it’s not that hard for a werewolf to catch that light airy scent of yours.”  
  
The strawberry blonde scowls, “So now you’re keeping _tabs_ on me?”  
  
“Not intentionally, at least,” Erica shrugs, “Boyd heard about the police being in Central Park, told me, and I informed Allison and Isaac so they could check it out. Isaac caught your scent, _tried_ to follow you, but ended up following that cute deputy boyfriend of yours instead.” Her fingers glide past where they’re resting on the staircase to slowly stroke down, what Lydia just realizes she’s _still_ wearing, the sleeve of Jordan’s officer jacket. Her breath slightly hitches because it totally slipped from her mind to give it back to him, and when she glances up at Erica again, the blonde’s expression is more than just amused.  
  
“Scents tend to mix when you wear other people’s clothes, you should know that by now,” she remarks in a mocking way.  
  
“He’s not my boyfriend,” Lydia replies simply, ignoring Erica’s other comments, because she’s definitely not in the mood to go back and forth with the blonde, especially when just standing there on the stairs _is_ killing her feet. Although that doesn’t stop the unexpected tiny warm flutter in the pit of her stomach from Erica’s remark about Jordan.  
  
The blonde smirks, “Oh, are you just fucking him then? No strings attached?”  
  
 _Oh no_ , Lydia thinks, _that’s crossing the line.  
  
_ Sure, she might have what people might consider a reputation of sleeping around, of making out with guys she barely knows based on their appearances, and sometimes she thinks of it as a bad habit from high school that she really needs to get rid of, but like they say, bad habits die hard. Not that Lydia has anything against casual sex, whether it be her having it or anyone else.  But that doesn’t mean she’s just going to let Erica degrade her and say whatever she wants.  
  
 _Hell no.  
  
_ But instead of frowning and narrowing her eyes at the blonde, Lydia does what she does best. She smiles. But it’s not any smile, her lips curl into a dangerous smirk that make Erica’s smirks look like nothing compared to hers. And then she lets out a small laugh, as if the whole conversation amuses her to no end, and maybe it does. “I don’t know Erica,” She snaps back bitingly, “Are you fucking Boyd? Maybe you’ll find your answer _there_ , sweetheart.”  
  
Her reply makes the grin that she so much wanted to wipe off of Erica’s face vanish in a second, and be replaced by a very faint blush creeping up her neck and cheeks. Lydia doesn’t wait for an answer, because her work here is done, so she promptly turns away, making sure her strawberry blonde locks bounce in Erica’s face as she struts up the stairs, ignoring the pain that shoots up her legs.  
  
And as she  reaches the top of the stairs, she doesn’t even bother to even glance back at the blonde. It’s not worth her time.

 

** 

 

  
No matter how many times Lydia told herself that she would not fall prey to society’s desire to turn girls into emotional insecure neurotics who lifted their dresses up at the first flattering remark, she came to the slow realization that it was already too late.  
  
She entered her freshman year of high school with the expectations that she would earn straight A’s, become president of the Math club, and be the top student of her freshman year class. There was nothing in her little handbook that could possibly prepare herself for girls with their too short skirts and blouses that showed too much cleavage, or the longing looks from boys she got and the constant readjustment of their jeans when her body started hitting puberty.  
  
And makeup. She soon discovered that it was no longer an option.  
  
Lydia tries not to remember those days, the ones where she would sit in front of her vanity mirror, holding one of her mother’s liquid eyeliners and trying to make the perfect cat eye just like she had learned from an online makeup tutorial. But her hand was too unsteady and she kept on either poking her eye or letting the black liquid leak into the whites of her eyes, making them burn and sting until tears dotted her eyelashes. Yet, despite all this, she kept going, kept trying, because she was persistent and determined and—she was Lydia Martin.  
  
She wanted everyone to remember that name. She wanted everyone to fear her. To want her. _To want to be like her._  
  
And that’s exactly what she did.  
  
She was fifteen.  
  
Sooner or later, she perfected the art of makeup and secretly borrowing her mother’s curling iron after she left for work early in the mornings. Lydia acquired the skill to make her strawberry locks into perfect loose ringlets that bounced with every stride of her legs and sashay of her hips. Her wardrobe started to consist more of skirts and dresses and heels, because she wanted to stand tall enough to look people in the eye when she tore them down with a killer look, and if they’re lucky, a snarky comment passing from her pretty pink mouth.  
  
Lydia Martin wasn’t anywhere close to being  emotional, insecure, or _neurotic_ in her first year of high school. She was blissfully happy because she had beauty _and_ brains, managing to make everyone’s heads turn towards her when she strut down the halls while also excelling in every subject with perfect grades.  
  
She was the definition of perfection.  
  
Was.  
  
Lydia doesn’t realize how long she’s been under until she can barely breathe anymore, making her jolt upright in the bathtub, water spilling out from the edges of the tub and splashing on to the floor. She takes short gasps of air as she coughs out any water that painfully surged into her lungs. She hates when that happens. When she accidentally drifts out of reality and gets stuck in the complicated mess that is her mind. But she’s grateful she’s not screaming at least. The last time she screamed while taking a bath was the worst, because Allison had barged in with Isaac behind her and Lydia did not appreciate that especially since she was naked.  
  
Now she makes sure to lock the door.  
  
Sighing, she relaxes back into the water, letting her eyes flutter close as the warm soapy water envelopes her body. But just when she thinks she can finally relax and calm down from today’s events, her phone vibrates loudly on top of the closed toilet seat, making her let out a groan. She swears that if it’s Stiles, she’s going to throw her phone against the wall, but surprisingly it isn’t. It’s Deputy Jordan Parrish, written exactly like that as it continues to flash across the screen, and Lydia figures that won’t work. She has to change it to something more suitable, maybe Deputy Pretty Eyes or Deputy Fine Ass. She almost even greets him as the latter when she picks up. Almost. “Hi, deputy.”  
  
“Are you feeling better?”  
  
Lydia wasn’t expecting that. What she was expecting though was for him to say something about the body she found or hopefully some news on the whereabouts of the killer, basically _anything_ about the case. Anything but this. She almost finds herself speechless for a moment before she finally answers, “Just dandy. Except for the fact that my feet feel like crap.” She slides a foot out from underneath the soap bubbles and examines it for a second. It’s still red and swollen, but not as bad as it was a few hours ago. “But I’m soaking them in Epsom salts, so hopefully that helps. Wait. Is that why you called? To check up on me?” Her voice lingers on the edge of disbelief, which is slightly ironic because just a while ago although she was angry about Erica keeping tabs on her, she doesn’t quite mind the idea of the attractive deputy checking up on her.  
  
Jordan must have noticed the surprise in her voice because he quickly apologizes, “Sorry, I wasn’t sure whether to call so late or not—”  
  
“It’s fine,” Lydia interrupts, biting her lower lip. “I just...wasn’t expecting it.” And then because her eyes catch his jacket hanging on one of the hooks behind the bathroom door, she says a little more playfully this time, “Also, you forgot something of yours with me.”  
  
He lets out what sounds like a low chuckle to her. “I could say the same to you, in fact.”  
  
That makes her eyebrow arch up in confusion. “What is that suppose to mean?”  
  
“You bought the dress after all then?”  
  
It’s all he says, but it leaves Lydia more flustered than it should, especially since his voice is so deep, his tone light, and she dare say that there was a flirtatious edge to it. But at the mention of the dress, she realizes that just like the jacket, she forgot the dress in the passenger seat of his cruiser. It was in a bag, wrapped in clear plastic so that it wouldn’t get dirty, and Lydia assumes he probably saw it when he stepped back into his car. And of course he knew it was hers, it was just today at Macy’s that he had told her she would look amazing in it.  
  
She can’t help but wonder if he thinks she bought it because of him. And if that’s the case, she’s going to have to expel that thought from him as soon as possible. “Yes, I did. So?”  It sounds bitter, rolling off her tongue like that.  
  
“Nothing,” he replies, voice still pleasant to her ears. “You left it in the car and I was just hoping on dropping by tomorrow to return it. If that’s okay with you?”  
  
 _If that’s okay with you?_ God, why did he have to be so polite? It just made things so much more difficult for her. “That’s...fine with me.” She doesn’t say it so bitterly this time. “I need to give you back your jacket anyways.”  
  
“And it’ll give me an excuse to check up on you, make sure you’re _actually_ resting.” His voice is beaming and Lydia can almost imagine that smile on those goddamn lips of his.  
  
“As opposed to what? Running around in broken heels isn’t technically a speciality of mine,” she huffs, since she’s much more used to running around in heels that _aren’t_ broken.  
  
“As opposed to getting yourself stuck in dangerous situations,” Jordan replies, serious this time.  
  
Lydia knows exactly where this conversation is going. All in the span of a few short weeks, she’s found two dead bodies, stumbled into a crime scene in the middle of the night, and almost got herself killed by a psychopathic werewolf who really needed a mani pedi. Of course, it would make him suspicious. “It’s not like I do it on purpose,” she tells him.  
  
“Never said you did.”  
  
 _Okay_ , she’s starting to not like the direction this conversation was heading. She needs to change the subject _now_. Not to mention, get out of the tub before her skin turns all pruney. “Anyways,” Lydia starts, while reaching down to pull the drain plug, “are there any new leads on the case?” The water starts to flush around her loudly as she stands up, grabbing a towel from the rack to wrap around herself.  
  
“Not yet,” he says, an octave louder, and Lydia can make out the muffled sounds of voices and other noises coming from the background, making her guess that he’s still at Central Park. “But I’ll let you know if anything comes up.”  
  
Lydia smiles at that, because at least he’s willing to keep her in the loop now, and she considers that a development in their partnership. “Thanks,” she says, now stepping out of the tub slowly, making sure she doesn’t slip.  
  
“ _Also_ ,” Jordan continues, “I mentioned the code you found in Kayleen’s house to the Sheriff, he said he’s going to forward it to Danny to check it out and he also mentioned to get you on it too.”  
  
Lydia’s eyes spark up in interest at this as she sets the phone down on the sink counter, putting it on speaker, and then pulling out a hair dryer, because there’s no way she’s going to sleep with wet hair. Her hair will be a mess in the morning if she does that. “You can send it to me now, I can try decoding it tonight,” she tells him excitedly as she puts the dryer on the lowest setting and starts running it through her hair.  
  
“No, you should rest tonight. I’ll just give it to you tomorrow when I stop by—” He pauses suddenly. “What—what’s that noise?”  
  
“I’m drying my hair,” She hums simply, and after a few more moments of letting it run over her damp locks,, she turns it off, satisfied.  
  
“Were you just in the _shower?_ ”  
  
“Bath.” And then she arches an eyebrow, because he sounds surprised. “Why?” But instead of getting an answer, Lydia just hears more incoherent talking and muffling, and it kind of irritates her that he’s talking to someone else while talking to her, but then she reminds herself that he’s a cop and there was another homicide today, so talking to her is probably the last thing on his list of what to worry about. But still. It irritates her. Probably more than she would be willing to admit.  
  
After a few more minutes of impatiently waiting on the line, Lydia finally hears him. “....Sorry, I need to go with the ME to exact an identification and notify a family, if there is one,” Jordan says to her, with a small sigh.  
  
Lydia finds herself nodding but then stops when she realizes that he can’t see her. “Of course, right...Well, I appreciate you calling up and...checking up on me.”  
  
“Anytime,” he says sincerely. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”  
  
She can’t help but smile. “Mhm. Tomorrow.” She hears the voices again in the background, and Jordan musters a quick goodnight before finally hanging up and she does the same.  
  
Long after the call ends, Lydia still stands in the middle of the bathroom, watching as the steam on the mirror starts to vanish while she wraps the towel around her tighter. Deciding that she should probably go to her room and change now, she picks up her discarded clothes from the floor, throwing them into the hamper, and then going to unlock the door. But before she does, she stops because Jordan’s jacket is still hanging on it in front of her. Slowly taking it off from the hook, she lets her fingers slide through the fabric, which is still strangely warm, before bringing the jacket close to her face, letting the warmth buzz across her jaw line, as she inhales his scent. It’s sweet, minty, _fresh_. Much different than the overpowering expensive cologne that Jackson wears, which she honestly never liked in the first place, and much more different than the other distinct scents of boys she’s been with, ones that she doesn’t even remember now because they’re so irrelevant. _  
  
_Lydia finds herself thinking about what Erica said to her earlier, about how Isaac had mixed up her scent because she was wearing Jordan’s jacket, and the thought of smelling like him makes her feel warm, a warmness that she realizes she shouldn’t be feeling.  
  
And as she stands there, holding his  jacket still, Lydia can’t ignore how she feels utterly at peace.

 

**

 

  
She falls asleep easily, almost too easily even for how tired she is, and she instantly regrets it, knowing that she should have stayed up until Allison came back, because then she could have asked the huntress to sleep next to her. That way, she would have at least felt safe.  
  
That way, she wouldn’t have any nightmares.  
  
But it’s too late now.  
  
When Lydia opens her eyes, she’s not in her room anymore. She’s lying on a cold hard floor and when she sits up, scanning her surroundings, she doesn’t recognize them. But glancing at the whitewashed walls, the dim strip lighting, and a hallway stretched out in front of her with doors lined up on each side, it reminds her of a hospital, although it’s much different than any hospital she’s ever been to before. She gets up slowly, the harsh silence enveloping around her, and if the circumstances were different, she swears that the silence would be comforting.  
  
It’s anything but that, though.  
  
Lydia starts to walk down the aisle, a cold shiver shooting up her legs when her bare feet hit the hard floor, and it’s only when she glances down at her feet and notices that they aren’t swollen, does she know that she’s dreaming. It makes her somewhat relieved, to know that she’s just dreaming, but at the same time it doesn’t make all of her relieved, because even in a dream, it’s easy to get trapped in believing that it’s real.  
  
She keeps one hand on the wall on the left side of the hallway, letting her fingers slide over the freezing surface, as she strains her ears to listen carefully, to catch anything beyond the deafening silence. It’s what she does whenever she ends up somewhere in banshee mode, it’s what she did when she was at Kayleen’s house, because she’s realized that even the walls have voices.  
  
 _Help me. Help me. Help me.  
_ Hearing those two words being repeated over and over again back at Kayleen’s house made a shiver run down Lydia’s spine while she followed those exact voices into the kitchen, with Jordan following close behind her.  
  
Jordan.  
  
Lydia wonders what he thinks of her, showing up at a crime scene like that, completely in a trance. She wonders if he thinks she’s weird, strange, _crazy._ He already thinks she’s psychic, and Lydia hopes that’s all he thinks, because even though she’s told him countless times she’s not, she would prefer the title psychic over crazy any day.  
  
After finding that strange code in the vase in Kayleen’s kitchen, she had walked over to the bloody handprint on the wall, because for some reason it felt like the voices were coming the loudest from there. And when she had placed her fingers perfectly over it, the voices began to shriek through her mind, resonate through her eardrums, and the urge to scream became inevitable.  
  
When Lydia screamed, she saw everything rushing through her like a vision. She heard a name, Liz Moore, and then she saw a woman, blue eyes and blonde hair, running through Central Park, fear flashing across her face as she ran—from what, from _who_ , Lydia doesn’t know. And part of her doesn’t want to either, especially not after she found that same woman, body sliced up and bloody, head nearly severed from her neck, discarded amidst the trees and broken leaves in the park like she was never even important in the first place.  
  
Lydia wondered if she was someone’s daughter, someone’s wife, someone’s girlfriend, lover. But most importantly, she wondered who she was. What did she like to do? What didn’t she like to do? This woman, that Lydia never knew, never met, an absolute complete stranger to her, yet she felt her death surge through her body, and somehow there was a connection now.  
  
It made her want to puke. And she did, behind a tree, letting her body flush out the scent of death that was overwhelming her so much. She would have probably collapsed right there, waited until someone found her, but then Kali appeared and there was no time to sit and wait around anymore.  
  
She just couldn’t catch a break from running away all the time.  
  
When Lydia turns the corner of the hallway in her dream,  she walks down to the end of the hall, but stops when she sees a sign hanging at the end, with an arrow pointing to the right. _Juvenile Ward._ And as soon as Lydia reads that, she knows she’s not in just any hospital. She’s in a psychiatric ward. A mental asylum.  
  
She doesn’t get why she’s here though, because usually her dreams take her to places that she recognizes, even if only barely. And this place, this place doesn’t seem one bit familiar to her. In fact, Lydia isn’t even sure if this place even exists in New York City, or anywhere else for this matter. But she doesn’t get time to think about it much, because before she knows it, she hears something.  
  
A voice.  
  
Saying her name.  
  
It echoes from where the Juvenile Ward is and Lydia hurries towards it, bare feet pounding against the tiled floor as she runs, the voice getting louder and louder as she progresses further down what seems like a never-ending hallway at first, but then she reaches the end and turns—where her gaze finally locks on to a figure, making her breath hitch.  
  
A girl stands at the other side of the hall, back facing Lydia. She has short curly hair and is wearing light blue clothes that makes Lydia think she’s a patient here. “Hello?” Lydia calls out, taking a step forward. “Were you the one saying my name?” When the girl doesn’t answer, Lydia takes another step closer. “ _Hello?_ Can you hear me?”  
  
Ignoring the strawberry blonde’s words, the girl sprints into a run.  
  
“No! Wait!” She calls out again, but the girl doesn’t stop, leaving no choice but for Lydia to follow after her.  
  
She runs down the hall after the girl, turning at each and every corner until it feels like they’re going around in circles. And if there’s one thing she’s absolutely horrible at, it’s running. But Lydia swears that each time she tries to up her speed and finds herself close enough to grab the girl by her shirt, the girl surprises her by running just a little bit faster to get out of her reach. It frustrates her, it really does. “Hell no, you can’t just call my name and then run away! This is my dream!”  
  
When Lydia thinks she’s close enough again, she extends her arm out and grabs the girl’s shirt, yanking both her and herself down, but instead of falling to the floor like she expects, they end up falling through one of the doors instead. Lydia thinks they’re going to end up crashing on to the cold hard floor, but to her surprise, she lands on a strangely soft bundle of leaves that crunch under her weight. A cold numbing wind blows against her body, making her shiver, while the subtle scent of pine cones and trees fills her senses. When she opens her eyes once more, she’s staring up at a dark starless sky, the outlines of tall redwood trees circling around it. And that’s when she knows that she’s not in the psychiatric ward anymore. She’s in Central Park now.  
  
Quickly sitting up right, Lydia glances to her side and sees that no one’s beside her.  
  
The girl’s gone.  
  
She tries standing up on her feet again, but as soon as she does, a familiar pain shoots up her legs, making her stagger and almost fall again. She winces, her eyes glancing down at her feet, making a small confused gasp escape her lips. She’s wearing heels again. And not just any heels, the same exact heels she was wearing earlier that day and they’re broken. It’s only then that she realizes she’s wearing the same clothes as well, and it’s like deja-vu all over again. _What’s going on?_  
  
When she manages to get up again, she starts walking, because she doesn’t know what’s real or not anymore, even though the sharp sting that keeps surging up her legs with each step she takes sure feels real, along with the cold breeze that has her skin crawling with goosebumps and the hair on the back of her neck standing up. Lydia’s never felt pain before in any of her dreams, she’s always woken up before that ever happens, but this, this is different. Because of it, Lydia thinks that maybe she isn’t dreaming anymore. Maybe she’s actually been asleep this whole time in the park and just woke up now.  
  
Maybe, this is real.  
  
As she walks, she tries to figure out what part of the park she might be in, but it’s too dark to actually notice anything, and everywhere she looks, she can’t seem to find a clearing away from the trees that towere over her. Lydia continues to walk, aimlessly, but this time picking up her pace, while ignoring the pain that shrieks from her feet. But she doesn’t get anywhere too far, because as soon as she starts to walk a little faster, a snarl resounds in the air. Lydia freezes and for a moment, she thinks she heard wrong, that it was probably just her imagination or the wind blowing.  
  
But then she hears it again, and this time it sounds like an angry growl. An _animal-like_ growl.  
  
And it sounds close.  
  
Lydia breaks out into a run— _a sprint_ and this time she runs so hard that all the adrenaline pumping vigorously through her veins almost makes the pain in her feet bearable, while her surroundings start to become a blur, and Lydia doesn’t dare look behind her. Past the sound of her pulse pounding through her ears, she can still hear the snarls, the growls, the sounds of a savage animal ready to tear her into pieces.  
  
It definitely doesn’t sound like any animal that she knows, and strangely, it doesn’t sound like a werewolf either.  
  
She’s running so blindly now that she doesn’t even notice when she makes a sharp turn and ends up crashing into someone, but before she falls to the ground, strong arms grab her by the waist, pulling her close. Lydia almost lets out a scream because she thinks she’s going to die, but then she feels her cold, shivering body press up against a warm one, and she suddenly feels safe. She finds herself clinging closer to the stranger—to her savior, while letting herself slowly wind down from all the fear and adrenaline that courses through her, letting it be replaced by the warmth of the stranger. It’s only when Lydia’s heart beat slows down considerably does she feel a gentle hand caress through her hair. It makes her finally glance up, and to her surprise, she’s greeted by bright green eyes. She opens her mouth to say his name, but no words come out as Jordan’s hand strays away from her hair and his fingers brush down to her face, cupping her cheek softly. Lydia unconsciously leans into his touch, allowing a wave of warmth to rush through her body all the way down to her toes.  
  
“Shh. It’s okay,” Jordan whispers, his voice genuine and real, “you’re safe now.”  
  
And Lydia wants to believe him, so she does. She wraps her arms around him, pulling herself close to him again and he lets her. “Can you just hold me?” She asks him, voice coming out a muffled whisper. Lydia doesn’t care if it makes her sound pathetic or vulnerable, because maybe that’s what she is at the moment, and she desperately needs to ground herself again.  
  
Jordan merely hums in agreement like Lydia expected him to, before embracing  her in his arms again, and she wishes she can stay like this and forget everything that happened. His hands rub up and down her back in a soothing motion and it feels _so_ good that she absentmindedly lets a satisfied noise escape from her throat.  
  
But it doesn’t last long.  
  
Because before she knows it, she’s inhaling deeply, and instead of taking in Jordan’s fresh minty scent, she’s overwhelmed by the smell of strong cologne. So strong that her eyes start to burn and her head starts to ache, making her jerk back from Jordan’s grip, but then she realizes that Jordan isn’t standing in front of her anymore.  
  
The smirk on Jackson’s face makes a shiver run down Lydia’s spine as she steps back, but only to feel her back hit the rough trunk of a tree, trapping her because Jackson strides forward, cold eyes boring into her soul. “We only broke up and you’re already throwing yourself at another guy? Typical,” he sneers, coming up close to her and letting a finger slither down her cheek. “I honestly didn’t expect anything else from _you._ ”  
  
A cold sensation runs through Lydia at his touch, much different from when Jordan touched her, and she tries to jerk away, but Jackson grips her face harshly in his hand, pushing her even farther back against the tree, the bark of it splintering into her skin painfully. Lydia lets out a wince and it only makes Jackson smile even more, finding pleasure in her pain just like how she found pleasure in his, except this time, if anyone’s going to be receiving pain it’s going to be her. Lydia wants to scream, wants to yell for him to let her go, but no words escape from her lungs as she writhes under his grip.  
  
“But just don’t forget one thing, _Lydia_ ,” he thunders, her name rolling off his tongue in a disgusting manner, “you were mine first.”  
  
She closes her eyes then, because she can’t bare to see his face, can’t bare to meet his bone chilling stare, can’t stand hearing him say she’s _his_ , like she’s something to be owned or dominated. She hates it.Instead, she starts to repeat over and over again in her mind. _This is a dream. This is a dream. This is a dream. Wake up. Wake up, Lydia!  
  
_ Jackson’s cold breath hits against her jaw, “Look at me, Lydia. Look at me!”  
  
But Lydia doesn’t listen, just shakes her head, her eyes still closed as she mutters, “This isn’t real. It’s just a dream.”  
  
The sound of laughter reaches her ears, and it’s unpleasant, but she doesn’t recognize it as Jackson’s, however she doesn’t dare open her eyes to find out if it is or not. She feels the grip that was on her face suddenly loosen, and if she could Lydia would let out a sigh in relief, but that comfort is taken away from her when the grip lowers to around her neck now, choking her. And the voice she hears next, she’s not sure if it’s entirely Jackson’s either. It sounds like it can be—but it also sounds like it can easily belong to someone else. But maybe it’s all just in her head, because she’s losing oxygen now, she can’t breathe and she can’t think straight, and it’s hard to pay attention to anything when she’s so close to asphyxiation. Yet, despite it all, Lydia keeps her eyes closed.  
  
She keeps them closed even when she hears the snarl from earlier again. Even when she feels sharp claws pierce into her throat.  
  
“ _Open your eyes, Lydia!_ ”  
  
Suddenly she’s being shaken by the shoulders vigorously and she lets out a whimper, “No—I can’t, I won’t!”  
  
“Lydia, open your eyes! It’s me, Allison!”  
  
It takes one more yanking of her arm forward before Lydia’s finally opening her eyes, and this time she’s not in an asylum or in the middle of Central Park. This time, she’s in her own room, sitting in her bed while her whole body shakes, Allison’s hands still on the strawberry blonde’s shoulders.  
  
“Lydia, what’s wrong?” Allison tries to ask as softly as possible, but Lydia doesn’t miss the overwhelmingly worried tone to her voice as dark eyes scan over her. “What happened? Did you see something? Did you scream? _Are you okay?_ ”  
  
Answering questions is the last thing Lydia feels like doing, so she just shakes her head and curls closer to Allison until she’s resting her head on the huntress’ shoulder. “It...was just a really bad dream,” she says, trying her best not to choke up.  
  
Allison doesn’t say anything for a while, just rubs a hand up and down Lydia’s back, a gesture that strongly reminds her of when Jordan held her in her dream. “Do you want to talk about it?” she finally asks when Lydia stops quivering in her arms. “We can talk about it if you want.”  
  
Part of Lydia wants to talk about it, because she always tells Allison everything since she is her best friend, but for some reason she can’t bring the words to her lips. She can’t get herself to describe the unknown girl in the asylum, or how she was being chased in Central Park, or how Jackson demeaned her, or how Jordan held her like she was the most precious thing.  
  
 _Jordan_. Lydia can’t help but feel a bit embarrassed by the fact that she actually thought that was real when really it was anything but real. “No,” she says slowly, “I don’t want to talk. I just...want to sleep. Please?” Although she doubts she’ll be able to sleep after that..  
  
Allison nods, not asking her anymore questions, which Lydia appreciates as she lays back down. She’s about to bring the covers up over her, but Allison beats her to it. “Let me,” she whispers, and Lydia nods, letting the huntress tuck her in.  
  
 _Like a mother._ The thought brings Lydia some comfort as she curls into the sheets while the mattress shifts under Allison’s weight  as she slides into the space on the bed next to her, and even though Lydia can’t see her, she knows that she’s facing her. She doesn’t say anything, even though Lydia expected her to ask exactly what happened in Central Park, but after seeing her like this, Lydia assumes that the questions will be delayed until tomorrow.  
  
And until then, she has the whole night to figure out whether she wants to tell the truth or not.

 

 

** 

 

 

In the morning, for the first time, Lydia waits for Allison to wake up.  
  
She watches the huntress, observes how her chest rises and falls with each shallow breath she takes, her soft dark curls falling slightly in her face, framing her sharp but delicate features. It surprisingly brings Lydia peace in watching her best friend sleep, probably since she’s so used to seeing the brunette kick ass and overwork herself.  
  
Suddenly, Allison stirs a little, eyes still closed, as she stretches her arms above her, letting out a somewhat refreshing but tired sigh. After that, she snuggles back into her pillow, pulling the covers tighter around her. Her eyes flutter open a tiny bit and when she sees Lydia awake and staring at her, her eyes open fully, surprised. “You’re awake,” she says, yawning. “Did you sleep okay?”  
  
“Sort of,” Lydia lies. In fact, she doesn’t think she got more than one consecutive hour of sleep the entire night.  
  
Allison’s brow creases. “I don’t need to be a werewolf to know you’re lying.” Lydia doesn’t reply to that, and Allison doesn’t press the topic further. “What time is it?”  
  
Lydia checked her phone ten minutes ago. “Nine.”  
  
Allison makes a groaning noise and covers her face with the blanket, because it’s Saturday and technically she’s allowed to refrain from her morning training on the weekends, but if Lydia is stubborn, then the brunette is most definitely determined, pushing herself more than Lydia thinks she needs.  
  
“Sleep in,” the strawberry blonde coaxes, “Even _heroes_ are allowed to sleep in sometimes.”  
  
Allison moves her head from the pillow and snorts, “Hero? I think the word you’re looking for is _vigilante_.” She kicks her feet out from underneath the covers, moving so that she’s staring up at the ceiling now.  
  
Lydia can’t help but roll her eyes, because although the huntress follows her golden rule of protecting those who can’t protect themselves, her ways of enforcing that code can edge towards being somewhat violent. Although it doesn’t mean cold blooded murder, it can definitely result in brutal ass-kicking and maybe even slicing off a few fingers for good measure. Allison’s ways have been described as torturous or as the NYPD would say, _taking the law in her own hands_ , and maybe her ways are everything that is the opposite of heroic, but she does her job, and she does it well, even better than the NYPD, and that’s really all that should matter. Lydia scoots closer to the brunette, humming, “That’s what _you_ think. But you can’t change what _other_ people think.”  
  
Allison snorts. “Like the NYPD? Who thinks I’m some robin-hood figure?”  
  
Lydia rolls her eyes. “I don’t mean the police. I mean other people.”  
  
“And what do other people think?” She flashes a dimpled grin at her. “Enlighten me.”  
  
“Well,” Lydia starts, biting back a smile, “you’ve managed to show every guy in this city that girls can kick ass and still look great at the same time. Not to mention that you’re also breaking through gender role barriers for superheroes. Who knows, maybe you’ll have your own movie in a few years.”  
  
Allison laughs. “I thought you already proved that girls can kick ass and still look great when you punched Jackson in the face.”  
  
The sound of Jackson’s name brings a chill running through Lydia, but she ignores it and gives a small smile. “Anyways, that’s not what I was trying to say,” she continues, redirecting the subject away from her ex. “What I wanted to really say is...You give people hope, Ally. Someone to believe in, someone for kids to look up to. You make them feel safe, and I think that’s what makes you a hero.” As soon as the words leave her lips, she feels arms wrap around, pulling her into a hug, while Allison’s head rest against her shoulder.  
  
“That makes two of us,” she says.  
  
It’s Lydia’s turn to snort. “I think you’re forgetting one crucial detail. I don’t inspire anyone with anything, well except for maybe _jealousy_ ,” she says, slightly smirking as she remembers all the times girls had bad mouthed her in high school, “but that’s not the point. I’m not like you, Ally.” The words come out of her sadly, and she isn’t even sure if she intended for it to sound that way. “I’m not brave or strong or—”  
  
Allison hugs her tighter, making her stop, “Hey, shh. You’re the strongest, bravest person I know. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”  
  
Lydia nods, not even bothering to argue, because it’s only in Allison’s presence that the she willingly lets her walls down, lets herself break and cry and be comforted in return by her best friend, because even bold and bright Lydia can’t always endure everything.  
  
“And besides,” Allison continues, “who’s Artemis without her Athena anyways?”  
  
That brings a smile to Lydia’s lips. “Or Athena without her Artemis.”  
  
“See. We’re a _duo_ , we’re nothing without the other person,” the brunette explains, proudly. “I’m nothing without you, Lyds. And you know that.”  
  
Lydia takes in her words as she stares blankly at the crumpled sheets between them, but she doesn’t reply, because she doesn’t know how to tell Allison that it’s actually the other way around, that _she’s_ the one who’s nothing without _her_. She looks at her feet instead, which look better from yesterday. “I think I’ll wear my winter boots today. They’re comfy.”  
  
Allison raises a brow. “Why? Where are you going today?”  
  
“I’m going with you to the cemetery, of course,” Lydia replies as if it’s obvious.  
  
The brunette blinks at her. “You...remembered?”  
  
Lydia nods, smiling. “The second Saturday every month. How can I forget?”  
  
And Allison smiles back at her like she knows she means it.

 

**

 

  
After soaking her feet one more time and letting Allison bandage her feet again, Lydia puts on her warmest and furriest boots, that are also thankfully her most comfortable shoes, and sets out with Allison on the drive to the cemetery in Brooklyn. The drive is a good thirty minutes or so, although Allison likes to blatantly disobey the speed limit sometimes, which Lydia doesn’t really mind, because with New York City traffic, it’s not like it matters anyways. And usually, conversation flows easily between them, since they take it as an opportunity to update the other as much as they can on what’s going on in their life, because they never get to with Allison too busy saving the day and Lydia successfully balancing double majoring at Columbia while still being the brainy sidekick to her superhero best friend, as well as saving time aside to get involved in whatever dangerous and possibly highly illegal plans that Erica thrusts at her. But at this moment, as Allison drives through fifty degree weather with the heat on at a cozy temperature just for her since it’s been two winters and Lydia still isn’t used to the fact that what she considers cold is seen as unusually warm to New Yorkers, and she would rather just huddle comfortably in her pea coat while trying to count how many times Allison glances in her direction than talk about what happened yesterday.  
  
She counts up to five before Allison finally brings it up.  
  
“Why were you there last night?” She doesn’t turn to look at her this time.  
  
“I was with Jordan.” Lydia glances out the window. The sky is full of storm clouds and she predicts that it’s going to rain soon. Maybe tonight or tomorrow. Either way, not good for her hair at all.  
  
“Is that his name? The guy who went up against Kali last night?”  
  
“He also protected me,” Lydia says defensively, looking over at her now.  
  
Allison smiles, meeting her gaze. “That he did. A bit reckless, though, taking you to a potentially dangerous crime scene like that.”  
  
Lydia doesn’t dare tell Allison how Jordan handcuffed her to a car and she escaped, not because she’s afraid of what she would say to her, but because she’s afraid what Allison might do to _Jordan._ And that’s a thought Lydia would rather not think about. She decides to change the subject instead, “What did you do to Kali?”  
  
“Well, I didn’t kill her,” Allison replies. “I took her back to Deucalion. Let him do what he wants with her. Also, do you mind telling your deputy that it might be better to not post around wanted signs of a potentially psychopathic woman that looks like she has claws for hands and feet. Not that anyone at the station will probably believe him, anyways.”  
  
“Agreed.” Lydia’s about to end the conversation there, but then her eyebrows furrow. “Did you just call him _my_ deputy? He is not _my_ anything.”  
  
Allison grins. “If you say so.”  
  
The conversation comes to a standstill as they turn into the Cypress Hill cemetery, and Lydia can’t help but feel relieved about it because at least she doesn’t have to tell Allison just yet about how she’s found two bodies of people that have been brutally murdered, or about how she’s been hearing dead people, or well at least that’s what Lydia thinks it is,  since there really isn’t any other explanation to the voice she heard in Kayleen’s house. And then there’s also that strange dream she had last night...Just thinking about it makes her shiver as she gets out of the car, trembling even more when a cold breeze hits her, and she side-eyes Allison because she’s wearing just a light sweater, completely unaffected by the chill.  
  
 _Damn natural born new yorkers_ , Lydia thinks, falling in line with her as they tread across the wet grass of the cemetery. Unlike the car ride there, they walk in silence, which they usually do whenever Lydia accompanies Allison to pay her respects to her mother and aunt. The cemetery is more occupied than usual, and Lydia notices a few families off in the corner placing flowers and other things in front of gravestones. In the distance, she also catches some kids playing soccer, which is weird because it’s a cemetery, but it strangely makes her smile.  
  
When they reach the graves, Lydia watches as Allison kneels down and places one bouquet of the two she was carrying, an assortment of roses in front of the headstone that read _Kate Argent_ , while the white gladiolas were placed near the one that read _Victoria Argent_ with the lettering _“Wife, Mother, Leader”_ engraved underneath. Unlike her aunt, Lydia never had the chance to meet Allison’s mother, since she passed away nearly eight years ago, when Allison was only a tender age of sixteen. At first, when Lydia started living with her after coming to New York City to study at Columbia—her mother and Allison’s father were old acquaintances, explaining why she ended up living with Allison—all Lydia knew about Allison’s mother at that time was that she was killed in a horrible car crash. But as soon as Lydia was thrown into the supernatural loop with werewolves and her being a banshee and how the Argents used to be a family of werewolf hunters, Lydia discovered that Victoria Argent was killed, but not by a car crash—by a _werewolf._ Lydia doesn’t know all the details, even now, but she does know that the werewolf that was behind Victoria’s death was also responsible for Kate’s death as well.  
  
Peter Hale.  
  
Lydia doesn’t know him that well, she’s only seen him probably twice in her life, one of those times she doesn’t even remember actually. But the other time was when he came to Kate’s funeral and Allison threatened him to leave or else she’d tear him into pieces. She remembers how disgusting she felt, seeing him there, with his peculiar blue eyes and that smile on his rugged face, a smile that always seemed devious and full of scorn. Yet, although Lydia felt distaste for the older man, she couldn’t help but feel strangely attracted to him as well. It was only when after Allison forced him to leave that Lydia realized what she had been thinking, what she had been feeling, a familiar warmth pooling in her stomach, and ultimately she felt guilty for even feeling that way. For the man that killed both her best friend’s aunt and mother.  
  
Lydia’s happy she hasn’t seen him since then.  
  
“Do you think they’re proud of me?” Allison suddenly asks, bringing the strawberry blonde out of her thoughts.  
  
Lydia manages to give her a sad smile as she crouches down next to her, the wet uncut grass tickling her legs through her leggings. “Of course they are,” she tells her softly, reassuringly, because she knows that unlike her aunt and her mother, Allison never shared the same killer instinct towards werewolves or supernaturals of any kind. Sure, Lydia’s aware of the slightly dark phase her best friend went through after her mother died, even though she doesn’t like to talk about it, but other than that, the huntress had never agreed to the old Argent code, _to hunt those who hunt us_. Which is exactly why she suggested to change it, to form a new code.  
  
 _We protect those who cannot protect themselves.  
  
_ And now, it’s the code that Allison runs with in protecting the city.  
  
“If they could see what you’re doing right now, all the people you’re protecting, they wouldn’t have any other choice but to be proud,” Lydia continues, placing an arm around her. She’s not the best at comforting people, since she can barely take care of her own emotions, but everything she’s saying right now is nothing but the truth. Allison is the strongest person she knows, and seeing her like this, on the verge of breaking down, Lydia just can’t stand it.  
  
“But I’m everything that they would have hated,” Allison replies, eyes distant, “I mean, I might not have claws or fangs or predict death...But I’m not like everyone else either. The things I can do, other people can’t do that. And I can’t help but think that I’ve disappointed them, Kate and my mom. I can’t help but think that if they were alive today, they would think I’m a freak, Lydia. _They would think I’m a monster_. I...think I’m a monster.”  
  
When the words leave the brunette’s lips, Lydia’s surprised, because it’s the first time that Allison’s ever said anything like it. In fact, it’s the first time she’s ever mentioned how she feels being _different._ And it’s not at all how Lydia expected it to be, because she would think that having extraordinary strength, being able to regenerate your own body’s cells, and overall just having faster reflexes than the normal human being would be _wonderful._ So wonderful that there are times that Lydia feels jealous, actual jealousy for her best friend, because she can do things that Lydia can never do, and she wishes she can have that, that kind of power. Not that Lydia’s ever felt weak, she’s strong and she knows it, but she also knows that if she ever gets into a life or death situation, she would die easily, and more importantly if anyone she cares about ever falls into danger, she won’t be able to do anything about it.  
  
Because she’s helpless in that way.  
  
“Ally, _look at me_ ,” Lydia says, placing a gentle hand on the brunette’s cheek so that she’s looking at her now.  “Not all monsters do monstrous things. And you are a prime example of that.”  
  
Hearing that, Allison gives her a small smile. “So are you.” She then takes Lydia’s hand, holding it between both of hers, “I know I never told you why I did it, why I agreed to let Erica experiment on me, why I agreed to become the world’s first genetically modified—” she pauses and lets out a small, forced laugh, “ _superhuman_ , god, it sounds ridiculous even saying it...But what I’m trying to say is, I did it because I wanted to feel strong. Not that I already didn’t feel strong, but I wanted to feel stronger. Because I wasn’t strong enough to stop my mother from dying, I wasn’t strong enough to stop Kate from getting burned to death, I wasn’t even strong enough to tell my father to _stay_ with me, to not go to France because I needed him the most at that time.” Her gaze lowers to the ground, and for a minute Lydia thinks it’s because she’s crying, but then remembers that Allison hates crying in front of people, even if it’s just her.  
  
When she looks back up at her, Lydia notices how her eyes are filled with a heart wrenching kind of sorrow, but despite it she still smiles, but it’s a sad smile. “Lyds, do you think I made the wrong decision?”  
  
“Of course not,” Lydia informs her, reassuringly, and then trying to lighten the mood, she smiles, “and _trust me_ on that, because you’ve made far worse decisions. Like those shoes with that sweater. Not color coordinated at all, Ally.”  
  
Allison laughs at this and Lydia’s smile grows wider, a feeling of relief going through her at the sound, and even though they’re in a cemetery, where laughing is probably considered inappropriate—but then again so should kids playing soccer—she could hardly care less, because her best friend’s smiling again and that’s all that matters to her. That, and when Allison pulls her into a bone-crushing hug that almost leaves her breathless. “I love, you know that right?” She whispers into the strawberry blonde’s ear.  
  
“Of course I do, but do you mind reducing that love a little? I’m having a hard time breathing,” Lydia manages to muster out.  
  
Allison immediately loosens her grip, “Sorry, sorry. Totally forgot about the superhuman strength for a minute.”  
  
Lydia smiles. “I love you too, Ally.”  
  
They stay hugging like that and Lydia thinks that maybe this is the perfect time to tell Allison about everything, about the bodies, about how she’s _finding_ them. But at the same time, she doesn’t want to bring it up and ruin the moment.  
  
Then again, it’s better now than later.  
  
Or never.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Lydia pulls away from the brunette and starts slowly, nervously, “Allison, I have to tell you something.”  
  
“What is it?” Allison gives her a curious look, and then as if sensing her uneasiness, she frowns. “Is everything okay? You know you can tell me anything, Lyds.”  
  
Lydia sighs, “I know, I know. That’s why I need to tell you what happened yesterday. _What really happened yesterday_.” She takes another deep breath, but before she can even continue, she feels herself being yanked aside harshly.  
  
“Lydia, watch out!”  
  
She almost forgets how strong Allison really is, because she’s pushed with such force that Lydia’s surprised she manages to keep her footing and not fall face first to the ground, which she’s grateful of though, because otherwise that would have been embarrassing. She quickly turns to face the huntress again, annoyed expression evident on her face, but as soon as she turns she sees why Allison pushed her in the first place. The kids that Lydia saw earlier playing soccer had kicked the ball in their direction, a little too hard, and it was about to hit the strawberry blonde, that is before Allison shoved her out of the way and caught the ball herself. And considering the reactions of the kids that now circle around the brunette, Lydia thinks that they’re all pretty impressed with Allison’s super fast reflexes.  
  
“You did that so fast for a girl! How?” She hears one of the kids ask when she walks over. He looks around five.  
  
Lydia raises a brow, “For a girl? What’s that supposed to mean, kid?”  
  
The five year old shrugs and then another one standing near him perks up, “Girls suck at sports!”  
  
Lydia looks offended, even though she _does_ suck at sports, while Allison just ignores the outburst, furrowing an amused brow instead as she twirls the soccer ball she’s still holding in her hands. “And what are you guys doing playing soccer in a cemetery anyways?”  
  
The five year old frowns. “My dad loved soccer.”  
  
The weight of the sentence makes Lydia’s expression suddenly soften, while Allison crouches down so that she’s at eye level with the kid. “I bet your dad taught you a lot of moves too huh?” The five year old nods. “Why don’t you show me some and in return I’ll show you how I did that so fast?”  
  
The kids all glance at one another, silently nodding to each other before breaking out into excited screams as they all grab at Allison at the same time, dragging her towards an open grass area. Lydia smiles, watching as her best friend plays with kids that are half her size, and after everything they’ve been through, it’s a beautiful sight to see. It reminds her how despite what they are, and whether that be werewolves or banshees or even _monsters_ , underneath it all they’re still only one thing, and it’s the only thing that really matters.  
  
They’re human.  
  
And it’s because they’re human that Lydia still has hope. Hope that everything is going to be okay, even if it seems like things are just getting worse.  
  
And maybe they are.  
  
But she doesn’t want to think about that, not now at least, as she takes a seat on the grass, deciding that she can tell Allison everything later, because right now she just wants to watch her best friend laugh and have fun for once.  
  
Because they both deserve at least that much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate all types of feedback! 
> 
> Also winter classes at uni resume on Monday so life is going to get pretty hectic for me very soon, but I'll try my best to keep writing and updating. :)
> 
> And definitely more Jordan/Lydia in the next chapter!


	6. Take Me Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ~~Wow this is such a badly written chapter...*hides in embarrassment*~~  
>  But in other news, guess who finally reached 50k! (◡‿◡✿)
> 
> song: [(x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fTKcrmGLTMY) [I'm aware the song isn't called "take me down" but I think that sounded better as a chapter title.]

**J O R D A N**

* * *

 

 _Show me what you want to see_  
 _You're keeping secrets you don't need to keep_  
 _You've been running out of time, you stepped over the line  
_ _Girl I know you'll take me down_

 

He goes to therapy twice a month.  
  
It became a routine ever since six months ago, when the Sheriff suggested Jordan to a therapist he knows has helped people, especially those who have been in the army like him and have supposedly gone through the same thing. And he doesn’t doubt it of course, he’s done his online research, he’s read the symptoms, the statistics. He’s read how having flashbacks and traumatic nightmares are all typical symptoms of PTSD, along with how the percentage of those who experience it is much higher among people in the military.  
  
And reading it, it should have made him feel somewhat better, because at least he knows now he’s not alone. At least he knows there’s others like him out there, but for some reason, it makes him feel more disconcerted.  
  
“Parrish?”  
  
The sound of his name brings him out of his thoughts as he glances up, his green eyes meeting the familiar blue ones of Teresa, the lady who sits at the front desk, holding open the examination door for him. “Dr. Baker will see you now,” she says softly, flashing a smile towards him that he can’t help but notice is usually much brighter when directed towards him.  
  
“Thanks,” Jordan says, returning the smile as he follows behind her through the long hallway. “How have you been, Teresa?” He asks, since he’s been coming here long enough to be on friendly terms with most of the employees.  
  
“Oh you know, the usual,” she responds, glancing at him over her shoulder with a small grin, “Still going on dates with men that end up disappointing me within the _first five minutes._ ”  
  
They turn a corner at the end of the hall before finally coming to a stop in front of Dr. Baker’s office. Jordan turns towards her then, giving her a reassuring smile, “I’m sorry to hear that. But I’m sure you’ll find the right one. You’re smart and beautiful and any guy will be lucky to be with you.” And he doesn’t just say it to _say it_ or to try and make her feel better, because he doesn’t believe in flattery and also because he honestly does mean it. And when he sees the sincere smile that appears on the her face to his comment, she knows he means it too.  
  
“Thanks Parrish. If only you were vaguely interested in me, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now...,” she replies mostly offhandedly, but it still manages to take Jordan off guard, because even though he’s noticed her flirtatious remarks towards him, he would have never thought she would be interested in him in that way.  
  
But to be completely honest, he never does pick up on things like that too well, which surprises him at times since he tends to think he’s quite good at reading people. It’s almost like his deductive reasoning skills fail him in the romantic department. “Teresa...I—”  
  
“Oh, _please_ don’t pity me, Parrish,” she interrupts him with a roll of her eyes, a gesture that reminds him far too much of a certain strawberry blonde. “If I wanted pity or sympathy, I would have started bawling my eyes out right now.” She gives him a quirky smile before opening the door for him and returning to a more professional tone, “Dr. Baker will be with you in a few minutes. If you need anything, just let me know.”  
  
Jordan nods, unable to say anything coherent as he watches her disappear around the corner before he goes inside, shutting the door behind him. He can’t help but feel a bit guilty about what just happened, and it’s not the first time he’s felt like this either. Whether it’s the barista at the coffee shop writing down her number on his receipt or the new girl that lives a few doors down from him trying to flirt with him, or the intent gazes of young mothers on him whenever he walks into the produce aisle of the grocery store, Jordan can’t help but feel overwhelmed by guilt. He feels guilty because he never calls the girl at the coffee shop, because he tries to avoid bumping into the new girl on his apartment floor, _because_ whenever Malia puts him on a blind date with a girl, Jordan already knows exactly how it’s going to play out.  
  
The first date usually goes well, and so does the second one, but then the dates start to get infrequent. More and more infrequent. They start to get cut short because Jordan gets stuck on the job or he has to cancel because he’s too tired after working a long shift. He’ll start to leave early following their morning afters, giving the excuse that he has to be at work, and whether she buys the lie or not, it doesn’t matter because usually by then Jordan knows it’s over anyways, and it’s only confirmed when he gets a call the next day and finds out that she’s already seeing someone else.  
  
Someone who actually has _time_ for her.  
  
And he feels guilty about it.

The door opens and Jordan doesn’t realize it until it’s closed with a slight slam, startling him in the red loveseat he’s sitting in. When he looks up, he expects to see Dr. Baker, but instead he’s greeted by someone else—a dark skinned woman, maybe around Jordan’s age, with long black hair that spills down her front and an expression on her face that almost comes off as stern and unrelenting.  
  
She doesn’t look anywhere near old enough to be a doctor.  
  
“Jordan Parrish,” she says, her lips barely curving upward in a tiny smile as she walks over to him. “I’m Marin Morrell.” She extends her hand out and Jordan stands up to shake it.  
  
“Uh, it’s nice to meet you Marin—”  
  
“ _Morrell,_ ” she says firmly, letting go of his hand. “Call me Morrell.” She then gestures back to his seat. “Sit.”  
  
Jordan nods, taking a seat once more and watching as she gracefully takes the seat across from him, crossing her ankles and placing the file she was holding on the desk next to her. It’s only when she places it down does Jordan realize that it’s _his_ file. “Actually, I usually see Dr. Baker…,” he says slowly.  
  
“I know,” Morrell says, calmly. “Dr. Baker sees a lot of patients in her time, and it’s only equitable that she wants to make sure each and every one of her patients is treated well and is given as much time as they need to recuperate. Which is why I’m here to help.”  
  
“You’re a doctor?” It spills out of him unexpectedly, and Jordan instantly regrets saying it, because the look that Morrell gives him is anything but amused.

“I’ve done over 300 hours of fieldwork and I have a Doctorate in behavioral psychology,” she deadpans, recrossing her ankles. “Hopefully, that answers _your question._ ”

He feels too dumb and incompetent to say anything in return, so instead he just apologize. “Sorry, that was really stupid for me to say.”

Morrell smiles at that. “It was.”  
  
And it manages to make Jordan return the smile as well. He watches as she then slips a hand in her bag, taking out a notepad and pen before facing him again. “And if your questions are done,” she starts once more, flipping to blank page, “I think we should get started.”

He doesn’t know what she means by that, since everything that she needs to know is already in his file, which he expects she should have read. “Dr. Baker wrote down everything already....It should be in my file,” he tells her slowly.  
  
“Oh, I know it’s in the file,” she says. “But I’m not going to read it.” 

Jordan doesn’t understand. 

She smiles. “I don’t think it would be fair that way, if I already knew everything about you on our first session. It wouldn’t built any trust, and I think that’s very essential in any type of relationship. _To build trust._ Don’t you agree, Parrish?”

Jordan hears Morrell, but at the same time he doesn’t, because as soon as he hears the word _trust_ , he’s drifting away. He’s drifting away to that time where he remembers a harsh sun beating down on him, sweat dripping from his brow and down his dirt covered face. He remembers how his fingers trembled around the red and blue wires of the bomb, his heart beating rapidly while the heart of the man lying next to him was slowly fading away. 

He could have saved him.  
  
He _should_ have saved him.  
  
But he didn’t.  
  
“Parrish?”

The memory escapes him, as he looks up, meeting Morrell’s gaze again. She’s looking at him not with concern, but more with interest, as if she honestly wanted to know more about him.

“Shall we start then?” She repeats again, voice just as calm as it was before.

Jordan nods slowly, the faint sound of an explosion drumming through his ears, the overwhelming feeling of his skin burning all over again. He sits up straighter in his seat, trying to ignore it, and forces a smile in her direction. “Let’s start.”

 

 

**

 

 

The sky is grey with overcast and the sun is close to setting when Jordan finishes his session with Morrell, which actually went better than he thought it would, even though he didn’t open up as much as he could have. Morrell reassured him that it was okay though, telling him that he doesn’t have to force himself to say anything that he doesn’t want to and that she understands it will take time. Jordan appreciates that, and it actually makes him feel more comfortable in possibly sharing more with her at their next session.

Walking out of the building, he steps into his car, and thinking that it’s not too late yet, he decides to stop by Lydia’s place before he heads down to the station to start his shift, to not only get his jacket back, but to also make sure she was doing okay. It was only yesterday when she was running from a psychopathic woman who was trying to kill her, and he’s sure that Lydia’s not used to that on a daily basis. But before he can even put the key into the ignition and start the car, his cellphone vibrates in the pocket of his jeans. It’s the Sheriff. “Hello?”  
  
“Parrish, I need you to go check out Liz Moore’s apartment and see if you can find anything that can help us figure out who the hell might have killed her.” The Sheriff’s voice sounds tense on the other end, and Jordan can hardly blame him since two brutal homicides that were still unsolved had happened in the span of just a past few weeks, not giving NYPD such a good reputation. Not to mention the fact that Artemis seems to be doing a better job at getting rid of the crime in this city than the police, which Jordan honestly doesn’t mind, but he knows that the masked heroine’s actions don’t sit too well with the Sheriff and higher ups.  
  
“I’ll do what I can,,” Jordan replies, and then adding in a reassuring tone, “We’ll find out who’s behind this soon, sir.”  
  
Stilinski lets out a sigh, “I hope so.” And Jordan knows he means that he’s hoping all of this can be wrapped up before any other dead bodies are found. “She lived in an apartment complex in Uptown, and we contacted her landlord. He said that he’ll be willing to cooperate in the search and let you into her place. I told Danny to send you the address and the rest of the details.”  
  
“I’ll head over there right away, sir,” Jordan says, just about ready to hang up.  
  
“Oh, and before I forget, _take Lydia with you_.”  
  
Jordan nearly drops his phone at the Sheriff’s sudden suggestion, his mouth opening and closing like a fish as his mind tries to register what the man just said _._ “ _Sir_ ,” he manages to muster out, “I don’t mean to disagree but I hardly think that’s necessary. And after what happened yesterday, I think a few days off would be good for Lydia.”  
  
“Usually, I would agree with you, Parrish,” Sheriff says, “except this time, I think Lydia can really help us with this case. She has a keen eye, she sees things that we don’t see as easily. And besides, I already called her and she said she’d be happy to help.”  
  
 _Of course she would say that_ , Jordan thinks, not surprised that Lydia agreed since she does seem like the type of person who likes poking her nose into situations, even if they’re dangerous. It’s not that Jordan doubts that Lydia does have a keen eye, especially since she was the one who found both bodies of the girls that were murdered, it’s just that he doesn’t understand _how_ she did it. He’s still trying to wrap his mind around it, and the only possible answer that makes sense to him is that she’s got to be psychic.

After assuring the Sheriff that he’ll head over to Liz Moore’s place with Lydia, Jordan hangs up and starts driving towards uptown. When he gets to Lydia’s house, he walks up the front steps and rings the doorbell two times before it swings open, revealing a very smug Lydia Martin standing in front of him. The strawberry blonde’s wearing a pretty purple dress that hugs her figure far too nicely and Jordan finds his gaze lingering until he notices another thing.  
  
She’s also wearing his jacket.  
  
It shouldn’t surprise him, but it does, and for a second he just blinks at her, staring at the way her fingers barely peek out from under the long sleeves, or how she just looks _so_ tiny in it. Lydia notices his gaze easily and it’s only when she makes a noise from the bottom of her throat does Jordan glance back up at her, a faint blush creeping up his neck.  
  
“It’s actually pretty comfy,” she says, looking at him from underneath her lashes as she thumbs the hem of the jacket. “And _warm_.” She doesn’t make any gesture to take it off, and Jordan isn’t sure if he wants her to take it off either. Instead, she opens the door wider and then turns on her heels, walking back into the house and leaving Jordan standing there like an idiot, not sure whether he should come in or not. It’s only when Lydia realizes he’s not following does she stop in her tracks and peer at him over her shoulder, arching a perfect brow. “So, deputy, are you coming in or would you rather stand out there in the cold?”  
  
“Oh—right,” he manages to muster again, ducking his head embarrassingly as he steps inside and closes the door behind him. He tries his best not to feel out of place standing there in the foyer, but he feels very _out of place_ , because it reminds him of when she was at his place the night they met, how she was sprawled across his bed sheets and how he didn’t want to stop kissing her and—  
  
“I made tea,” he hears her say suddenly, her head sticking out from around the corner of what he presumes is the kitchen. She has another amused expression. “I hope you like Earl Grey?”  
  
He _loves_ Earl Grey.  
  
Jordan follows her into the kitchen and the first thing he sees is the table cluttered with stacks of books and papers, taking him slightly by surprise, but then he remembers that Lydia _is_ a college student so it really isn’t that surprising. He hesitates on taking a seat at the table, and it’s only when Lydia tells him to _sit down_ and _make yourself comfortable_ does he actually sit down. And as soon as he does, he finds himself immediately glancing over the pile of books spread out in front of him, picking up one about Archaic Latin, which makes his eyes sort of boggle. “You can read _Archaic Latin?_ ” He asks, shocked..  
  
“I got bored with Classical Latin,” she replies, smug as ever.  
  
That makes his eyebrows raise in appreciation. He already knows Lydia’s smart, there’s no doubt about it,  but she still manages to catch him by surprise anyways. He puts the book down, curiously rummaging through the other stuff now. “Sounds like you get bored easily,” he remarks, picking up an open notebook that has what looks like to him some unsolvable math problem, the only thing on the page making sense to him being the words _P versus NP_ written at the very top.  
  
Lydia snorts, bringing him out of his thoughts as he glances back at her, seeing her climbing on top of a bar stool in order to reach one of the higher cabinets for mugs. “After you have a long list of ex-lovers like mine, things tend to bore you easily,” she replies quickly, and Jordan can’t tell if she meant to say that or if just spilled out of her suddenly, but either way, it does leave him a bit dumbstruck.  
  
And it’s only when he sees the bar stool wobble under her weight does he suddenly get up from his seat, walking over to her. “Lydia, I don’t think that’s—”

Too late. Before he can even finish, Lydia lets out a high pitched shriek as she loses her footing and tumbles off the stool, but before she can land harshly on the floor, Jordan catches her in his arms and surprises himself when he doesn’t even stagger. Lydia ends up clinging to him with her eyes closed, probably thinking that she was going to hit the floor instead, and Jordan takes that brief moment to gaze at her in his arms, taking in the way her strawberry blonde curls shape her delicate face. When she opens her eyes again, their gazes lock for a few long moments, before Lydia narrows her eyes at him.  
  
“I—I just slipped,” she says, brow furrowed as Jordan sets her back on her feet, and he definitely doesn’t miss the reddening blush that lightly stains her cheeks before she turns away from him. It makes him smile. “I’m _not_ clumsy, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she huffs.  
  
“I wouldn’t think that for the world,” he tells her, hiding a smirk as he walks around her and grabs the mugs from the top cabinet easily.  
  
“ _Good_ ,” she says, still throwing him a look as she pours their tea.  
  
Jordan takes a few sips before flashing her an appreciative smile, “This is really good.”  
  
Lydia purses her lips, looking mock offended. “Of course it is, I made it.”  
  
Jordan resists the urge to roll his eyes as he watches her place the tea kettle in the sink. “How are your feet? Feeling better?”  
  
She shrugs. “I’ve been in worse situations before,” she replies simply, making Jordan’s brow crease as he tries to understand what the hell she means by that, but before he can even question it, Lydia cuts to the point. “Do you think the killer knew Liz and Kayleen?”  
  
“If you’re assuming that the same person killed them, then yes it’s possible,” Jordan replies, crossing his arms. The truth was that the NYPD didn’t even know yet if the same killer had murdered both girls. They would only figure that out after getting the autospies. “Danny’s been looking into their backgrounds, he hasn’t found anything yet though that would presume that Liz and Kayleen possibly knew eachother, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t a link.”  
  
Lydia’s eye sparkles. “A link that we might find at her apartment?”  
  
“That’s what the Sheriff’s hoping.”  
  
“ _Then_ ,” she says, pausing to slip out of his jacket before pushing it into his chest lightly. “We better get going. Let me just grab my coat, since that jacket _definitely_ doesn’t go with this dress.” She gives him a teasing smile before striding out of the kitchen, perfect curls bouncing around her shoulders while the hem of her dress flutters around her legs.  
  
She leaves him there with the jacket in hand, and Jordan tries his best not to revel in how the sweet scent of her shampoo is still clinging to the fabric.

 

 

**

 

 

He waits for her outside by his car, and when she finally walks out of the house, wearing a cream coat with a matching beanie, Jordan doesn’t think she can get any cuter, bundled up like that, as he holds the passenger door open for her.  
  
“No cruiser this time?” She asks as they start driving down the street.  
  
He shakes his head. “I have the night shift today, so I ditched the cruiser.”  
  
“Then who’s car is this?”  
  
He glances over at her, giving her a look as if it’s obvious. “Uh, mine?”  
  
Lydia scoffs, shocked. “You own a car in Manhattan? The only place in the country where not having a car is actually _normal_?” 

Jordan chuckles, “I’m from Chicago so technically it’s not normal for me. And besides, I’m not a big public transport person anyways.”  
  
“Something we surprisingly have in common,” she says, small smile curving her lips as she turns away from him, settling back into her seat comfortably.

He grins back at her and the rest of the drive to Liz Moore’s apartment is mostly in silence, that is until Lydia asks if she can see the code they found at Kayleen’s place and he tells her there’s a copy in the glove department, since the Sheriff kept the real thing as evidence. When she finds the paper, she pulls out a pen from her bag, starting to scribble on it. Jordan steals glances over at her every few moments, seeing her circle letters and numbers or rewrite them off to the side, making him curious. “What are you doing?” He finally asks.  
  
“What does it look like I’m doing?” She scoffs again, not even looking up from the paper, and Jordan’s starting to think that’s something she does often. “I’m trying to _solve_ the code.”  
  
“By _hand?_ ”  
  
She looks at him now, raising an eyebrow. “Are you doubting my skills?”  
  
“No—” He would _never_ , “I was just thinking how incredible that is.” _How incredible you are_ , he also thinks, but he doesn’t say that part. Instead, he focuses his gaze back on the road, silence falling between them, but even then he knows she’s staring at him.

“It’s not _that_ great,” Lydia finally says, lowering her gaze, and her sudden modesty takes him off guard. “It’s just simple cryptography and modular arithmetic,” she continues, going on about cipher codes and other things that literally pass right over Jordan’s head, but he listens attentively anyways, because there’s a certain passion in her words and a light in her expression that leaves him in awe.  
  
“How did your interest in computers spark anyways?” He finds himself asking as he turns the corner of the intersection. From Danny’s directions, the place should be just down the street.  
  
“It was mostly a hidden talent,” Lydia explains, curling a strand of her hair around her finger. “In fact, when I first entered Columbia, I was on the route for pre-med. I wanted to be a _cardiothoracic surgeon_.” She says the last part with a sort of laugh, and Jordan’s eyes boggle.  
  
“Wow. What made you change your mind from that to computers and criminal justice?”  
  
She clicks her tongue, and a small sad smile forms on her lips. “Not what, _who._ ”

Jordan wants to ask her who she’s talking about, but before he can, they reach their destination, a beautiful towering apartment building that he can even barely imagine how much the rent could possibly be. He parks on the side of the street and turns towards Lydia again, seeing her looking at the place with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth.  
  
His eyebrows furrow. “Something wrong?”  
  
She snaps back into reality and turns to him, expression not faltering. “She lived _here?_ ”  
  
“Well, yeah, it’s the address Danny gave me,” he tells her, pulling out his phone to double check the text message, but even then he couldn’t understand why Lydia was so surprised. “He said she rented out a place on the top floor, and the person who owns the place is willing to let us look around.”  
  
His statement, if anything, just makes Lydia look more nervous, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her coat and her lips pressed into a tight line. It makes him worry whether he should have brought her along or not, since it’s quite obvious to him that she’s been here _before_ , and that it doesn’t bring back good memories. “Do...you want to wait in the car? I’ll try not to take too long,” he suggests.

Lydia snorts, glancing over at him while composing herself again. The nervous expression she just had a few moments prior was wiped away. “I didn’t come all the way here just to wait in the _car_ ,” she remarks, opening the car door and stepping out as if to prove her point. “I came to help, deputy, and—,” she pauses, hesitating, “that’s what I plan on _doing._ ”  
  
Jordan doesn’t miss her abrupt pause, and he knows even though she’s trying her best to not show her anxiety, she’s clearly anxious about something. He doesn’t press the matter further though, since her personal life is frankly none of his business anyways, but it doesn’t stop him from thinking about it.  
  
They step into the lobby elevator together and Jordan reaches to press the button for the topmost floor, but then stops when his fingers brush against Lydia’s, making their gazes lock, and as Jordan stares into those eyes, he wonders what secrets she holds deep inside her. Lydia’s the first to look away, as she pushes the button making the elevator finally go up, before stepping back and putting some distance between them. And Jordan can’t help but be reminded of  the last time they were in an elevator together, how she had grabbed his arm and pulled him into a kiss, and how he had wrapped his hands around her waist, not wanting to stop kissing her. He’s in disbelief that it was only a few weeks ago when that happened, because it strangely feels longer than that, and it surprises him, because things are much different now.  
  
When the elevator stops on their designated floor, they exit together and walk down down a hall with royal red carpet that vaguely reminds Jordan more of a five star hotel than an apartment building. But then again, it’s uptown Manhattan, what else did he expect? He steals a glance towards Lydia again as they walk, and she looks relatively calm, that is, until they turn the corner of the hall.  
  
Standing in front of the door to Liz Moore’s apartment was a young man in a fitting charcoal suit, and even though only his profile view was showing, Jordan can tell that he’s scowling. Feeling their presence, the man turns towards their direction, and as soon as his blue eyes fall on Lydia, the man’s brow furrows, and Jordan feels Lydia slow her pace a little.  
  
That’s when he figures it out. _They know each other,_ Jordan thinks, the atmosphere turning tense as soon as they stop in front of the guy, who still has his eyes narrowed at Lydia. It makes the strawberry blonde shift uncomfortably, and Jordan doesn’t like that. He doesn’t like the way this man—whoever he _was_ —is staring at Lydia, and he knows that she definitely doesn’t like it either. Jordan clears his throat to grab the man’s attention, who finally peels his gaze away from Lydia to look over at him. Jordan’s eyes narrow at him now, “Are you the owner of this apartment, Mr.—?”  
  
“Whittemore,” he says, his tone anything but pleasant, “Jackson Whittemore.” And then he scowls again, adding, “This is a _penthouse_ , not a damn apartment. And for your kind information, officer, I own all the penthouses on this floor.”  
  
Jackson’s reply only makes Jordan raise an eyebrow as three words cross his mind: _What a dick._

“You mean, your father owns them.” Lydia’s sudden outburst makes Jordan look over at her, eyes widening when he sees the change in her demeanor, a complete transformation from how she was back in the car. She doesn’t seem so small anymore, with the way she holds herself against Jackson, arms crossed and chin held high, sizing him up with a look that was sharper than daggers. And even though the look wasn’t for him, Jordan can’t help but feel slightly intimidated as well.  
  
He also can’t help feel _very_ curious now as to how they know each other.  
  
At the sound of Lydia’s statement, Jackson’s demeanor changes as well. His rigid posture slumps, his shoulders fall, and his jaw clenches as he frowns at the strawberry blonde. “When the hell did you start working for the police?”

Lydia smirks. “Right around the same time I broke up with you. Or did you lose some brain cells and forget that after I punched you in the face?”  
  
Jordan has to stifle down a laugh from escaping his lips, because _god_ , she was definitely killing it. And hearing Lydia mention punching him in the face  clears up his curiosity from before, because he’s certain that Jackson is the same ex-boyfriend that Lydia’ had punched in the nose, the same guy that Jordan thought must have been crazy for cheating on Lydia, but now actually meeting Jackson, Jordan knows that the guy’s not actually crazy, he’s just an asshole.

Jackson doesn’t seem too pleased of being so blatantly insulted from the way he aggressively moves towards Lydia, but Jordan quickly intervenes, stepping in front of the strawberry blonde protectively. If Lydia flinches, he doesn’t see it, because he’s staring down Jackson now, while simultaneously thinking whether Jackson has ever raised his hand on a woman before, on _Lydia_ before, and he wonders if their relationship ever verged towards abusive. It makes Jordan’s stomach churn just from the thought of it. “Mr. Whittemore,” he starts, tone as steely as possible, “If you’re not going to cooperate with us, we’ll just come back with a warrant, and then you won’t have an option on whether you want to cooperate or not. And any damage done to your _penthouse_ from the search won’t be our fault. I hope you understand what I’m saying.”

Jackson’s jaw clenches so hard that Jordan thinks he’s going to act aggressively again, but instead he steps back, putting room in between them and allowing Jordan to ease his protective stance. “Fine,” Jackson grumbles, taking out the keys from his pants pocket and going to unlock the door. “But be fast, I have places _to be._ ”  
  
Jordan resists the urge to roll his eyes, but when he glances over at Lydia, he sees her do it openly, making his lips twitch in a small smile. But as soon as he follows her into the apartment, his smile is wiped straight off his face as he takes in the place. The living room was basically as big as _his_ living room and kitchen combined, with high ceilings, a decor and furniture arrangement that seemed to come straight out of an interior magazine, and huge bay windows that gave an amazing view of New York City. Jordan resists himself from gawking as he turns towards Jackson, who stands near the door. “Were you acquainted with Ms. Moore?” He asks him.

“Of course I was acquainted with her,” Jackson snaps, “I’m acquainted with all the people who live on this floor. Me and her worked in the same modeling industry...Until she got fired of course, which honestly isn’t surprising since she was sort of a bitch anyways.”

Hearing this, Lydia scowls at him. “If you’re just going to stand there and insult someone who’s _dead_ , you might as well just leave.” Her gaze flickers to Jordan, looking for back up.

And he gives it without hesitation. “She’s— right,” he says quickly, getting an annoyed look from Jackson, “ _I mean_ , the search will go much more smoothly and quicker if we weren’t interrupted...So, if you can step outside, Mr. Whittemore, it would be very appreciated.” He tries to sound as convincing as possible, because not only is he starting to get irritated by Jackson, he also doesn’t like the idea of the guy being so close to Lydia, and he’s sure Lydia doesn’t like it neither.

Jackson glares at Lydia momentarily, before looking back at Jordan and then, with a defeated look, tosses him the penthouse keys. Jordan catches them easily with one hand, watching as Jackson retreats out the door, slamming it shut harshly behind him. Silence echoes in the room after he leaves, until Lydia looks back at Jordan and smiles. “Thanks."

Jordan returns the smile and nods, wanting to tell her that she doesn’t need to thank him since Jackson’s an asshole anyways, but instead he says, “I’ll check out here and you can check inside, see if you find anything.”

Lydia nods, and without another word she walks down the hallway, disappearing behind the corner. When she’s gone, Jordan starts scouring through the living room, carefully looking through every nook and crook of the place for anything that might help them in some way, but no luck. In fact, the whole living room and kitchen looked like no one had touched it in days, even weeks maybe. _Strange_ , he thinks, glancing around the room once more, before heading down the hallway that Lydia went through.

Jordan  finds her standing in the middle of Liz Moore’s room, and unlike the other rooms in the penthouse, this room was a complete _mess_ , with clothes and other things scattered all over the floor and bed that Jordan felt like he had just stepped into a completely different apartment. “Woah,” he finds himself mumbling as he steps around the mess, stopping next to Lydia. “And I thought I couldn’t find anything _outside._ ” Lydia doesn’t answer him though, instead just stares intensely at the wall in front of her that was heavily covered with posters of rock bands.  
  
For a minute, Jordan thinks she’s having a psychic moment, but then she finally speaks. “Do you see anything that stands out on these walls?” She asks, her gaze flickering over to him.  
  
Jordan furrows his eyebrows at her, thinking it’s a strange question, but instead of asking what she’s trying to get at, he examines the walls again. He doesn’t see anything that he would consider as _standing out_ , because they were all just posters of rock bands such as Nirvana, Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, and among others. “I don’t think so,” he replies, scratching his jaw.

“Look closer, _deputy._ I shouldn’t be the one telling you to use your deductive skills a little better,” Lydia says, her tone smug.

Jordan frowns at her for a moment, not liking the way how she obviously knew something, obviously _sees_ something that he doesn’t. Glancing back at the wall once more, he starts scrutinizing each and every poster before his eyes. At first, everything looks the same, but then he finally sees it—and he almost curses himself for not noticing it in the first place. “Elvis Presley,” he says a bit dumbly, his gaze transfixed on the poster of the King of Rock and’ Roll.

“ _Does not_ belong among Hard Rock bands,” Lydia finishes for him, stepping up and slowly peeling off the poster from the wall. She flashes him a small smirk, “ _Good job._ And for a minute there, I was starting to doubt your skills.”

He tries not to look too embarrassed. “ _Funny._ But what does Elvis Presley have to do with anything?”

The poster comes off easily from the wall, and as soon as Lydia sees the back of it, Jordan sees her smirk vanish, and her lips thin instead. “A lot more than you would think, actually,” she says, flipping the poster over and  making his eyes go wide.  
  
It was another code.

 

 

**

 

 

Jordan shouldn’t be as surprised as he is. In fact, he really should have expected it.

The code is definitely similar to the code they found in Kayleen’s house—Lydia compared the two in the car while on the drive back to the station—but what Jordan doesn’t understand is what does it have to do with the murders? Two young women were dead, bodies brutally mutilated, all in the span of just a few weeks, and they had no convincing leads. The only leads they’ve found so far are these stupid codes.

It doesn’t make any sense to him.

When they reach the station, Jordan hurries in with Lydia following closely behind him, but as soon as he steps inside, he sees the whole squad room in disarray. Officers and deputies were rushing back and forth across the room, while static from intercoms and loud talking filled the whole place up, making him wonder if there was another murder.

“What’s going on?” Lydia asks him, just as confused and curious.  
  
“I don’t know. But I’ll go ask the Sheriff,” Jordan tells her, glancing away from the noisy clamor to look at her. “You stay here. I’ll be back.”  
  
Lydia looks like she’s about to protest, say how she _should be there as well_ , but instead of that, she just bites her lip and nods, letting him go. Jordan quickly makes his way across the room, trying not to bump into other deputies as he walks into the Sheriff’s office, luckily finding him alone. “Sheriff?”  
  
Stilinski looks up from the file he was reading, facial expression distressed until he sees Jordan enter the room. “Parrish. Did you and Lydia find anything?” He asks, making his way over to the deputy. “I’d like to hear _at least_ some good news today.”  
  
Jordan furrows his brow, wondering what the older man meant by that. But he ignores it for the moment, unfolding the rolled up poster from Liz Moore’s apartment and showing it to him. Stilinski looks at it, his eyes narrowing in confusion before glancing up at the deputy again. “Parrish, this is an Elvis Presley poster.”

“Yes, I know, sir, but the _back_.” He flips it over for him, the code appearing before the two of them.  
  
“Alright, maybe this wasn’t the good news I was expecting,” Sheriff says with a sigh, holding the bridge of his nose, tense.

Jordan can’t help but glance back out towards the squad room again before facing Stilinski once more. “Sir, what’s going on? Was another dead body found?”  
  
“Luckily, no, there’s no body this time,” Stilinski answers, following his gaze. “However, we got a tip just a while ago that the drug lord that’s gotten pretty infamous in Manhattan in the past year is going to be at an underground party tonight. Gah, what does he go by again—?”

“Morningstar,” Jordan replies, knowing exactly who Stilinski was talking about. Some young hotshot who’s been involved in some illegal drug trafficking among high school teens and college students that the NYPD hasn’t been able to catch, just bust his accomplices.

“Right, right...Who the hell calls themselves Morningstar anyways?” Sheriff says gruffly, and then grumbles, _“I’ll never understand this generation_.”

“Would you like me to join the task force as well, sir?” Jordan asks.

The Sheriff nods, standing up again and making his ways towards the door. “You’re the youngest one here, Parrish, and possibly the only one who can at least pass for a high schooler at those underground parties. Anyways, Peterson will inform you about the details—,” he pauses, door halfway open, “—Oh, and tell Lydia she can help Danny start figuring out what that damn code is about, because I’d like to know before we get _another_ body on our hands.

The Sheriff gives him another nod before finally leaving, and Jordan follows right after, walking back towards Lydia. She’s still standing in the same spot he left her in, except instead of standing idly, she’s on her phone. When he approaches her, she glances up at him, “Is everything okay?”

Jordan nods slowly, deciding that it’s better for the both of them if he doesn’t tell her about the situation with Morningstar. After all, Sheriff wanted her to stay at the station to help crack the code, and he’s sure that the older man wouldn’t appreciate it if he brought the strawberry blonde to an underground party, undercover or not. “The Sheriff just assigned me to go check something out,” he tells her vaguely.

“Oh, okay. I’ll come with you—”  
  
“No!” Jordan’s outburst makes Lydia freeze and raise a questioning eyebrow at him. He immediately stammers, “U-Uh, what I mean is, I’d rather have you stay here and help Danny decrypt the code.”

Lydia narrows her eyes at him, “I don’t like being told what to do, Jordan.”

Of course she doesn’t. He knows that already. “I know. But think of it as a request,” he says, because truthfully all Jordan wants is for her to be safe.

Lydia looks at him dejectedly but finally agrees. “Fine.”

Jordan tries his best to hide the sigh of relief that passes through him, watching as she flips her hair over her shoulder with a huff before heading over to Danny’s desk. When she’s out of sight, Jordan stops by Peterson’s desk, grabs the file on Morningstar, and then leaves to his cruiser.  
  
He doesn’t leave from the station immediately though, instead just sits in his car and looks over the file to familiarize himself with who they might be dealing with. However, in all the accounts they have listed, the NYPD has no idea how the Morningstar guy might look like, except that he’s fairly young, maybe mid-twenties, and it doesn’t help that all the statements taken from caught accomplices all say that they have no idea how the guy looks like either. But if it’s what he has to work with, he might as well. Closing the file, Jordan remembers vaguely that he might have his leather jacket in the trunk of the car, and since he technically has to be undercover, it might help him look younger than he is, which is sort of ridiculous now that he thinks of it, because he is _only_ twenty-four. “That’s still young,” he mutters to himself, getting out of the car and going around the back. “ _Right?_ ” Sighing reluctantly, he opens the trunk and grabs the black leather jacket, sliding it on, while thinking that his job was definitely starting to make him feel older than he really is.

When he gets back into the drivers seat, he realizes a beat late that he’s not alone this time.  
  
“Nice jacket, it definitely makes you look, _I dunno_ , twenty-three?”   

Jordan lurches back so far in his seat that he nearly hits his head on the window, earning a muffled snort from Lydia. He looks at her with wide eyes, “What are you—How did you—?”

“That’s not important right now,” she says, cutting him off and getting straight to the point, “What _is important_ is catching this Morningstar guy.” She taps her fingers against the file sitting in between them.

Jordan narrows his eyes at her. “How did you find out about that?”  
  
She rolls her eyes graciously, “Please, deputy, it’s not that hard to eavesdrop on Haigh and Peterson _especially_ when they talk so loud.”

 _God damnit._ He would have to talk to those two about that later. “Lydia, I can’t bring you with me,” he says, sighing. “You’re only eighteen and the Sheriff would kill me if he found out. Or worse, get me _fired._ ” And he couldn’t have that happen, especially since renting in Manhattan was already expensive as it is.

Lydia’s smile doesn’t falter, strangely. “I knew you would say that,” she says, curling a strand of hair behind her ear. “That’s why I came with a proposal.”  
  
Jordan arches an eyebrow at her. “A proposal?”  
  
“Yes, deputy,” she says, leaning across the dashboard towards him. “And it’s a proposal you can’t say no to.”  
  
She’s smiling deviously at him now, and she’s leaning in so close that he swears he can almost smell her perfume. “What is it?” He manages to ask as steely as possible, eyes still on her.  
  
For a moment, he expects her to pull away and sit back in her seat, but instead she leans in closer, and Jordan feels himself freeze. “Lydia—”  
  
The words fizzle in his throat though when he feels Lydia’s mouth against his ear, warm breath ghosting over the sensitive skin, before she finally whispers, “ _I know who Morningstar is._ ”  
  
And _that_ —there’s no way Jordan can say no to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...I've decided that because of uni and everything else weighing me down nowadays, I'm going to try my best to update at least twice a month because that sounds the most practical for me. I really don't know how long this fic is going to be, but i have a lot planned out (well not technically _planned_ out but at least planned in my head lmao) and I'm very determined to finish this! 
> 
> Oh and the following scene in the next chapter was supposed to be in this chapter, but I decided that it would be much more fun to write in Lydia's POV ;) so TAKE THIS SOMEWHAT CLIFFHANGER?? *laughs evily*


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